


home is where the heart is (and you have mine)

by sobsicles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accurate Portrayals of Sibling Interactions, Crack Treated Seriously, Dean being a dumbass, Dean is a disaster, Dean teaches Cas to play Hangman and other various games and it is cute, Explicit Smut, Fluff and Humor, Inanimate objects animating and hitting Dean over the head like we wish we could sometimes, M/M, Mentions of John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Pining, Sam laughing a lot because he deserves that, Sassmaster Castiel, Sentient Bunker, Sweet Moments, The Bunker is a little shit, The Bunker says Destiel Rights!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobsicles/pseuds/sobsicles
Summary: Dean and Cas have been dancing around each other for a painfully long time. When the Bunker becomes sentient, it has had enough and takes upon itself the mission to have Dean and Cas go from dancing around each other, to dancing with each other.Featuring floating knives, humping dummies, Hangman, and finding a place to call home.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 115
Kudos: 674





	1. Finding The Problem

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. 
> 
> So, it's been nearly three months since I've written anything for Destiel, and I have missed them. This crack idea entered my brain, so I ran with it. Honestly, it was only supposed to be around 8k, but I have zero self-control, so here we are. 
> 
> Major shutout to Malmuses and jscribbles for helping with everything from the summary to encouragement, and for putting up me screeching at them at two in the morning about these two idiots in love. 
> 
> With that being said...enjoy ;)

Dean would think that a failsafe like this wouldn't exist. It doesn't quite add up in his head when he sits down and thinks about it, but Sam assures him over and over that it's well within the realm of possibility for the Men of Letters--supposed  _ smart  _ people--to come up with something as stupid as this. 

Well, overall, Dean guesses that it's not  _ that  _ stupid. When Sam had accidentally tripped up on a cursed box holding a multitude of angry spirits, it's the failsafe that saved their asses--they're good, but when faced with nearly thirty spirits with next to no warning...well, they're not  _ that  _ good. 

Still, even if it had come in a clutch, everything that follows after the contingency plan from decades ago activates is just...bullshit. 

"I'm calling Cas," Dean declares firmly, because this is just weird enough to warrant that reaction. 

Sam  _ looks  _ at him for a moment, a knowing look that Dean graciously ignores, and he says, "Uh huh, you do that, Dean." 

"We need to make sure the warding is still intact, anyway," Dean mutters, digging his phone out of his pocket. It's true, they do need to do that, and saying the words makes him feel better about his decision. 

"Right." Sam's overly indulgent tone does not make him feel better, and the way his eyebrows rise doesn't help. 

"It's pretty weird, Sam." 

"Yeah, of course." 

"He'll be able to check if anything happened because of this bullshit  _ failsafe.  _ It's not like the dude is too busy."

"No, not at all." 

Dean scowls. "Whatever he's doing, he has to be done by now anyway. He's been gone at least--" 

"Go on," Sam encourages patiently, waving one hand casually, blinking innocently. 

"Well, you already know. And anyway, he's--" 

"I don't, actually." 

"Don't what?" 

"I don't know how long he's been gone, not to the exact date. I mean, I know he's been gone over a week now. What, eight days? Ten?" 

"Nine," Dean rattles off automatically before he realizes that he's being set up. He glares at Sam and huffs, putting his phone on the table and sliding it over. "Whatever, my point is, he can make a quick stop by here to make sure this is not, uh,  _ too  _ weird. You call him." 

Sam rears back in his seat.  _ "Me?  _ Why do I have to call him? It was your idea!" 

"What, you don't want to talk to him?" 

"Of course I do. It's Cas. I talk to him almost every day, regardless, but you're the one who--" 

"Wait." Dean holds up a hand and stares at Sam with a flat expression. "You talk to Cas almost  _ every day?"  _

Sam looks amused. "Yeah. Don't you?" 

Dean does not. "I mean, sometimes. Does he, like, call you or…" 

"We text, usually." Sam looks  _ really  _ amused. "He uses a lot of emojis, did you know?" 

"Yeah," Dean says quickly. He actually  _ did  _ know that, just from the amount of times him and Cas have texted in the past. Not that they've been doing a whole lot of that these days. "Just--just call him." 

Sam slides the phone back over to Dean with a straight face. "No. It was your idea, so you call him. I don't actually think he needs to come back for this reason." 

"You don't want him here?" Dean asks with narrowed eyes. That doesn't add up; Sam always likes having Cas around, even in downtime. 

"I didn't say that. I  _ said  _ that I don't think Cas needs to come back for  _ this reason.  _ I don't think he needs a reason to come back at all, but you do, so…" 

"Hey, I didn't say that!" 

"Then why didn't you call him yesterday?" Sam asks. 

Dean tosses up a hand. "Dude's busy! I'm not gonna just pull him from whatever he's doing just because." 

"You just said he's probably not busy." 

"Fuck off, you know what I meant. He's not too busy to come drop by and make sure this is relatively normal." 

"If that's what  _ you  _ think," Sam tells him, jerking his chin towards the phone, "then you call him." 

"Fine," Dean snaps, "I will." 

Sam chuckles and shakes his head as Dean snatches up his phone and goes to his speed-dial. It's not until the phone is ringing that he realizes that he's been swindled by his own little brother, the rotten traitor, and then he has no desire to give Sam the benefit of seeing his conversation play out. Dean flips Sam the middle finger and stalks off towards the kitchen, irritated and on edge. 

**_"Hello, Dean,"_ ** Cas answers. 

Dean huffs. "Where the hell are you?" 

**_"Columbia, Missouri at the moment."_ ** There's a faint crackle over the line and a distant sound of a horn honking.  **_"My search for the ancient angelic relic put me closer to ho-here than I anticipated."_ **

The way Cas momentarily trips up on the word  _ home  _ doesn't go unnoticed, and Dean's a little hurt by it. Ever since that whole business with Lucifer using Cas like an ill-fitted suit a while back, Sam has been working really hard for Cas to understand that he's not expendable or unwanted. It's taking a while, but Dean suspects it's not going well if Cas isn't willing to claim the Bunker as his home. 

That sours Dean's mood, but the fact that Cas is so close certainly lifts it a bit. 

"Did you find it?" Dean asks, curious despite himself. 

Cas hums.  **_"Yes, I have located and obtained it."_ **

"So...what are you doing now?" 

**_"I'm currently driving towards the post office to anonymously mail the local police station all the evidence against the illegal fence. He's caused many crimes and hurt many people."_ **

"Yeah, that sounds about right for a criminal. And, uh, after that? What are your plans?" Dean asks slowly, his stroll to the kitchen coming to a halt as he waits. 

There's a brief pause. It stretches until it's no longer brief. It goes from being a pause to dead silence, and Dean doesn't actually know how to break it. Cas says nothing, but he's breathing quietly over the line, and ain't that some bullshit? As if Dean needs another reason to regret this entire phone call.

"No plans?" Dean presses, narrowing his eyes. 

**_"Ah, well--"_ ** Cas clears his throat,  **_"--I'm sure that there are other relics that need locating. Unless, of course, you have need for me?"_ **

Dean coughs and tips his head back to stare at the ceiling of the hallway. "Well, if you're not too busy or anything--" 

**_"No, no, I can--I am willing to spare the time,"_ ** Cas interrupts hastily. 

"Oh, good, yeah." Dean releases a deep breath, not even realizing he was holding it. He heads to the kitchen with renewed vigor, coming to a halt inside the doorway as he stares around. The knives are floating. "So, you're never going to believe what happened to me and Sam today…" 

* * *

Dean is in the middle of snatching a pan out of the air as it tries to make a dive right for the trash--and he does not at all like the implications of that--when he catches the sound of the Bunker entrance being opened. He hangs the pan back up on its rack with a firm finger pointed at it in warning before he makes his way out front. 

Cas is just stepping off the bottom step when Dean comes around the corner and he's smiling at Sam in greeting. For a moment, Dean hangs back with his fingers laced tightly together behind him. It's still depressingly surprising to see Cas looking so calm and free, as if all his worries in the world disappeared the moment Amara and Chuck went on their way. 

It's been that way since the moment Dean walked right back out of that garden--not blown up--and told them that Amara and Chuck had just...left. They'd found even ground, and without a word to Dean, they just went up in a puff of light and dark, leaving him to turn around and go the way he came. Cas had smiled--a  _ true  _ smile, gummy and wide and sweet--and he's been smiling more easily ever since. It looks unfairly good on him. 

"Glad you're back, Cas," Sam says dutifully, clapping Cas on the shoulder and nodding casually. 

Cas, like the dork he is, holds his arms up about halfway like he's halfheartedly showing himself off. "I'm glad to be back. It will be nice not to drive for some time." 

"Yeah, that gets old quick," Sam agrees cheerfully. 

"So," Cas murmurs, "where is--" 

The rest of his words get cut off by sound of a harsh yelp tearing out of Dean's throat. Sam and Cas both jolt from the alarm in his voice, but Dean can't exactly help it. Not even two seconds ago, he was standing across the room, but now there's a chair catching him by the knees, forcing him to sit as it slides irregularly fast across the floor. There's nothing for him to do but grip the seat as he sails forward, his mouth dangling open in shock. 

It all happens too quickly for anyone to really do anything about it. Dean just holds on for dear life as the chair slides scarily fast across the room and slams right into Cas, who clearly isn't expecting this at all. Cas, who is an angel, even a human-adjacent one, has good balance in most situations. This does not appear to be one. 

It's not his fault, not even Dean's fault. Neither of them are prepared for the chair to ram right into Cas at the side, sending him careening backwards. Dean scrambles to catch him on autopilot and the chair--ironically enough--rocks back to help him heft Cas back up, only then to jerk forward so that he ends up right in Dean's lap. It's not graceful by any means, and Dean's nose is already aching from where it slammed into Cas' chin. Cas blinks in surprise, his fingers gripping Dean's shoulders to keep from hitting the floor. 

"Hello, Dean," Cas says calmly. 

Dean doesn't immediately dump Cas to the floor, but it's a very close thing. With a sigh, he mutters, "Hey, Cas. You mind getting off of me?" 

"Of course not." Cas awkwardly plants his feet to the floor and pushes up, ushering a few steps away. "I apologize if I hurt you at all." 

"You ain't heavy," Dean mumbles, rolling his eyes. He looks over to Sam with an arched eyebrow. "Still don't think this is that big of a deal?" 

Sam is biting his knuckle,  _ hard,  _ his face red from restrained laughter. "Actually, I think--" 

The chair suddenly tips forward, dumping Dean to the floor in a heap, and Sam's control of his laughter is lost. He explodes into uproarious laughter while Dean glares at him from the floor, slowly pushing to his feet with a grunt. Cas, with a suspiciously blank face and dancing eyes full of amusement, offers a hand as if to try and help him, but Dean waves him off with a huff. 

"Oh, shut up," Dean snaps, pointing a finger to Sam in warning. He whirls towards the chair and kicks out at it, but it skids to the side before sliding way too quickly across the room and going still in the corner. "This is some grade A  _ bullshit."  _

"You said there's an origin site for this?" Cas asks curiously, watching the chair with a tilted head. 

Sam, recovered from his laughter, nods and points towards the hall. "Yeah. It's actually not that far from the showers. Dean, show him while I go wrangle us some beers from the fridge." 

"That's  _ if  _ you can get the fridge to open," Dean grumbles, scowling as he starts towards the hallway, waving Cas after him. 

Cas follows swiftly. "You've been fighting with the fridge? For beer?" 

"Sometimes it lets us in, sometimes it doesn't." Dean shakes his head and sighs. "I made a sandwich perfectly fine earlier, minus the spoon I used to spread the mayo trying to gouge out my eye. When I went to try and take everything  _ out  _ of the fridge and put it in a cooler, the damn door wouldn't even open. It even smacked the shit out of me when I kept trying." 

"I see." Cas sounds as if he's trying very hard to keep from smiling. When Dean glances at him, he averts his gaze and presses his lips into a thin line, but the brightness of his blue eyes betray him. 

Dean clears his throat and looks away, willing himself not to ask the question that's been playing on his mind since his earlier conversation with Sam. He's not fixating on it, he really isn't. He's just… He doesn't understand. 

"So, uh," Dean mutters, and yep, his self-control is shit because here he goes, "Sam said that you two talk nearly every day. That true?" 

A pause. Longer, longer, longer. Silence again. 

"I mean, that's--it's cool, or whatever. Can't imagine what you two talk about. Sam can't exactly be a whole lot of fun to talk to. Just, like, nerd shit and hair tips and the benefits of grains and wheat." 

"I…" Cas stops, then shoots Dean a curious look. "He checks in with me regularly. We usually discuss what we are doing at that time. He has lectured me multiple times about texting while in the midst of fighting." 

Dean blinks at him. "You text while you're kicking ass?" 

"I wasn't aware that it wasn't allowed." 

"It's--Cas, it's not just  _ 'not allowed',  _ it's a really fucking bad idea," Dean hisses, shaking his head. "Any miscalculation could--you could get hurt, or worse. Of course Sam lectured you. The hell? I'm not saying it isn't badass, but dude, tell me you haven't done it again." 

"I was  _ fine,"  _ Cas mutters petulantly, throwing Dean a narrow-eyed glance. "The enemies weren't formidable and they certainly posed no threat. However,  _ no,  _ I haven't done it since. I instruct people to call now." 

Dean sighs, but he doesn't argue further. Cas has the need to stand his ground with a ferociousness that's likened to a pitbull going at its favorite bone. With him, Dean's learned, you just have to pick your battles, and even then, you have to be prepared to lose them. 

They both turn the corner, not too far off from the showers now, and Dean quickly says, "You could--I mean, not in the middle of a fight, but you could text or call me when you're gone. You know that, right?" 

He's trying. He really is. Sam's been pestering him to be a better friend to Cas after Lucifer possessed him, and Dean has been doing his best. He doesn't think he's doing all that great, and if it's a race, Sam would definitely be in the lead...but he's trying. 

"I've been reliably informed that phones work both ways," Cas replies simply, looking straight ahead, the words so casual that Dean  _ almost  _ misses the sass to them. 

Dean opens his mouth to...what? Defend himself? Argue or protest? The thing is, Cas is entirely right, and Dean  _ can't  _ say anything to that. So, he closes his mouth and says nothing, staying silent for the rest of the way to the origin site by the showers. 

The origin site just  _ looks  _ weird. Dean and Sam had watched it light up on the wall while deranged spirits had attacked. It had brightened to a purple glow that eventually became too much to look at, then dimmed enough for them to uncover their eyes and watch as all the spirits had caught up in flames, screeching and eventually disappearing altogether. 

On the wall, a purple symbol lingered there, looking nothing like they've ever encountered before. Sam had thought it was a rune of some sort, but Dean wasn't so sure--he knows runes, and this one doesn't ring any bells. They'd attempted to scrub it off, but it had stubbornly stayed. That was when Sam left to go check the archives and Dean had tried to paint over it, to no avail. The paint had slipped right off, repelled, and every attempt to get the symbol off afterwards hadn't worked. 

In Dean's world,  _ their  _ world, a magical symbol that won't go away is a very dangerous thing, no matter it's assistance in a dire situation. Dean hadn't stopped trying to remove the symbol until Sam came and got him, explaining what it meant. 

Sam's skepticism had lessened considerably after realizing what it was, and he thought it was ingenious. Dean, less so. He thinks it's fucking  _ stupid.  _

Inanimate objects aren't fucking sentient for a reason, especially a whole goddamn  _ bunker.  _ To put some kinda magic with it that will allow it to activate if a fight breaks out near the symbol--where they rarely ever go in times of fighting--and the residents are in danger...well, it can sound smart in  _ theory.  _ Right up until it becomes apparent that your home, the Bunker, is an asshole who uses appliances to make your life a living hell. 

"This is it," Dean says, gesturing to the symbol on the wall his eyebrows raised. 

Cas steps up to it, staring intently. He seems to scan it with a small frown before murmuring, "I don't recognize it. I would assume it's special made by those who are well-versed in protective magic." 

"What makes you think it's protection?" 

"Can't you feel it?" 

Dean frowns. "Feel what?" 

"It's not evil," Cas tells him, sounding certain. He steps closer to the wall and reaches out with his palm laying flat. Closing his eyes, he presses his hand to the wall. 

It takes a while before Cas drops his hand and backs off, and Dean shifts restlessly. "So? What's the verdict? Can we get the damn thing off or not?" 

"No, but it will fade with time." Cas turns to smile at him, making Dean's heart stutter in his chest. "It is alive, as I'm sure you realized. The things that have found home within these walls, that have married themselves to its very foundation, are included in that--the appliances, the books, even the wiring and water. You'll just have to coexist until the symbol fades and the Bunker slumbers once more, until necessary." 

"Wait, what?" Dean stares at Cas. "So, you mean to tell me that I gotta wait until this place is ready for its goddamn  _ nap,  _ before things go back to normal?" 

Cas nods. "Yes." 

Dean sighs and throws his hands up. "Great. Just fan-fucking-tastic. Well, you said it ain't evil, so there's that at least." 

"It isn't, no." Cas tilts his head. "It is, however, rather lively. There's an agelessness to it, something very old, yet the spirit of it is youthful." 

"Meaning?" 

"It understands very much. It also feels...playful." 

Dean narrows his eyes and repeats, "Playful." 

"Yes," Cas confirms. "Just now, it seemed to have felt...amused at your expense, as well as fond." 

"You tryna tell me that the Bunker is a little shit?" 

"In a manner of speaking," Cas replies, openly and shamelessly enjoying this, "yes." 

"Great." Dean sighs. "Just  _ great."  _

* * *

Two days later, they're all sitting around the map table in the war room, doing a stellar job of ignoring it as the light flicks on and off relentlessly. It's driving Dean absolutely  _ nuts,  _ but he won't give the Bunker the satisfaction of knowing that. 

"So, Cas," Sam speaks up--far too casually, in Dean's opinion, "you thinking about sticking around?" 

Dean desperately wishes Sam wouldn't have asked that. Because, now, Cas will be reminded that he can leave and escape this hellhole while they have to stay put and make sure nothing insane happens. Dean has just been silently hoping that Cas has forgotten that he can just up and go, that maybe he's treating this like some apocalyptic-level threat by accident. 

Maybe it's selfish to wish Cas will stay, even if he's being subjected to this bullshit, but...well, Dean's a pretty selfish guy sometimes. He watches the book Cas is currently trying to read jerk back and forth in his palms and decides that, yeah, he's selfish as fuck. 

Cas eventually gives up on the book and lets it sail into the air, dismissing it immediately as he turns his focus to Sam. "I can go," he says simply. 

Sam frowns. "You don't have to. Right, Dean?" 

They both turn and look at him, and Dean withholds the urge to smack his face repeatedly against the table. Just barely, but he does. "You can, uh… I mean, obviously you don't need to stay, Cas." 

Maybe Dean's not as selfish as he thought. 

Sam is glaring at him.  _ Why  _ is Sam glaring at him? What the hell?! He did the right thing here. He's about to snap at Sam to stop looking like that before his face gets stuck that way when the book in the air suddenly curtails and sails right towards his face. He doesn't even have time to duck before it smacks right into the side of his head and immediately lands on the table with a dull thud, lifeless once more as the empty chairs seem to shake and rattle, almost like...laughter. 

Cas is the only one who looks concerned. "Are you bleeding?" When Dean shakes his head and glares at the chairs, rubbing the side of his head, Cas' worry fades and is immediately replaced with amusement. "Perhaps the Bunker meant it as a  _ 'love tap',  _ as you call it." 

"Uh huh." Dean snatches up the book roughly and smacks it to the table with a grunt. "I'll show the Bunker a fucking  _ love tap.  _ Goddamn piece of--" 

"You really don't have to go, Cas," Sam says, ignoring Dean entirely. 

Cas shakes his head. "No, Dean is right. I'm not needed here, so I will go where I am." 

Sam purses his lips and turns to Dean. "Tell him he doesn't have to leave." 

"Dude, let him go if he wants to go," Dean replies, annoyed on Cas' behalf. Sure, he wants Cas to stay just like Sam does, maybe  _ more,  _ but that isn't fair to Cas, who can get away from the Bunker's bullshit. "He doesn't need to be here, so he should go." 

Sam stares at him as if he's lost his mind, which is just  _ rude,  _ and Cas is nodding in agreement as he goes to stand. He isn't smiling. Before anyone else can speak, the chair under Dean suddenly yanks out from under the table and falls back, making his arms pinwheel as gravity eventually takes over and jerks him down. His back connects hard against the wood while his head bounces off the floor, and before he can properly get his bearings, the chair is ripped out from underneath him and he's left sprawled out on the floor, staring at the ceiling and contemplating his life decisions that led him to here. 

When Dean gathers himself enough to be sure that he's not going to start shooting wildly at the walls and screaming at the top of his lungs, he lifts his head to see Sam and Cas standing shoulder-to-shoulder on the other side of the table, peering down at him. Sam has his arms crossed and is watching him unsympathetically, as if he's earned this in some way. Cas is now smiling, the asshole. 

Dean sighs and drops his head back to the floor. 

* * *

Cas has to get a few things from his room, so Dean waits all of five minutes before he points himself in that direction. Just because Cas is leaving doesn't mean Dean can't bother him right up until he's out the door. 

Dean raps his knuckles against the door and has to yank his hand back when the door shoves forward in an attempt to hit him back. Cas looks up from the duffel he's currently zipping and smiles. It's a small smile, but it's one Dean has gotten used to. It's familiar because Dean feels like he's been looking at the impression of it in Cas' eyes since he's known him, like that small smile reserved specifically for Dean--warm and welcoming and terrifyingly fond--has existed in Cas' gaze long before it ever thought to grace his lips. 

Every time he sees it, the smile steals his breath. 

Dean coughs to cover up the hitch in his throat, waving a flippant hand to the bag. "Dude, you have no idea how much I wish I could fit in that thing. I'd let you zip me in there and steal me away." 

"I don't understand." A crease forms in Cas' brow, and he squints at him. "You wish to leave  _ with _ me?" 

"I mean, in general, too," Dean says, shooting Cas a strange look. "But with you, sure. Why wouldn't I? You'd let me out the bag eventually, right? We could go bullshit around in some towns until all this blows over, leave Sam to deal with Monster House on his own." 

Cas stares at him. "I thought… I didn't realize that you wished to come with me." 

"I wish to  _ go,  _ period, but since you're the only one who can get away with leaving, I'd have to sneak off with you." Dean grins and points at the bag. "You think Sammy will believe you kidnapped me?" 

"No." 

"Ah, well, a guy can dream." 

Cas narrows his eyes at him. "You wish for me to leave, but you also want to come with me." 

"I don't--wait." Dean blinks, then frowns, then rolls his eyes. "Dude, tell me you didn't think I was kicking you out. I don't, uh, particularly  _ want  _ you to go, or anything. Not--not that I want you to stay, but I don't  _ not  _ want that, either. I mean--I'm not explaining this right." He grimaces and sighs. "Look, I'm a pretty shitty friend, buddy. Stay or don't, you can do whatever you want, okay? I'm not asking you to go." 

"You said I wasn't needed here," Cas replies slowly, staring at Dean accusingly, like he's being confusing on purpose. 

Dean suddenly understands why he was hit over the head with a book. "Yeah, okay, I  _ did  _ say that. But I meant that in the context that you don't have to stay here and put up with all this bullshit in the Bunker, if you don't want to. I know it ain't a lot of fun, so if you wanted to escape, I wouldn't blame you. Also, Cas, you don't have to be  _ needed  _ to be here. I thought Sam told you that." 

_ "Sam  _ did, but he isn't the only resident here," Cas replies sharply, arching an eyebrow. 

Okay, fair. But, ha! Dean has a perfect counter to that. "Yeah, well, I ain't the only other person who lives here, you know. You got a room just like me and Sam." 

"The Bunker is yours and Sam's to c--" 

"And yours." 

Cas snaps his mouth shut and says nothing. He just looks at Dean, one hand lax on the zipper of his bag while the other is clenched into a fist at his side. Dean has the baffling desire to walk over and grab Cas' hand, smooth the fingers out, make his hand relax. He doesn't. Instead, he just stands there and returns Cas' stare.

He likes staring at Cas. It's one of his favorite pastimes, stock full of nostalgia and still exhilarating to this day. 

When Cas blinks and looks away abruptly, Dean is surprised to hear his own voice softening as he murmurs, "Cas, this is your home, too. You have to know that, okay? You're home is with us. It always has been." 

"I...appreciate that," Cas says slowly, looking towards his bag as he slowly starts zipping it again. "I will return." 

Dean's heart drops, but he's not entirely sure why, not until the bag zips the entire way. He's being selfish again, hoping that maybe telling Cas this will make him want to stay. He has to forcefully push down the urge to ask Cas to just stick around  _ anyway,  _ knowing how fucked up it is to want his best friend to be tortured by the asshole Bunker with a vendetta against them. It's a solidarity thing, it has to be. 

"Where are you going?" Dean asks. 

Cas grabs his bag and turns towards him with a sigh, abruptly looking exhausted. In that brief moment before his face smooths out into its usual impassive stoicism, he seems nothing more than a weary man about to get behind a wheel yet again to set off on self-appointed mission to go do the right thing somewhere out there, where people won't appreciate it, when all he really wants to do is take a nap. 

Dean remembers only a few years ago, before the Bunker, when he and Sam and (occasionally) a tag-along angel travelled from hotel room to hotel room, hunting and saving and patching up the world when the numerous various apocalypses tore holes into it. He didn't know, back then, that he was aching for somewhere to belong, somewhere to rest, and his nomadic life had pinched around his sleepless eyes, had calloused his wheel-gripping hands, had settled like a stone in his takeout-only stomach. He looks back on those days fondly, now, much the same way a middle-aged man looks back on his wild days in college, with a twinge of soft nostalgia but with no desire to turn back the hands of time and exist there again. 

Cas, for that small slip of time, looks exactly as Dean had when he'd been wandering aimlessly, unknowingly hoping to find some place he belonged, a place to settle that he could call home. 

It breaks Dean's heart in a way most things don't, getting to him the way most tragedies can't even touch him. Here's Cas, who's too much of a man to be an angel and too much of an angel to be a man, and he craves a place to fit somewhere, and it rips Dean up inside to think that Cas doesn't believe the Bunker, with Sam and Dean, can ever be it. 

"I have learned that there is another artifact, this one demonic in nature, and I wish to take and destroy it." Cas narrows his eyes. "It's not a concern as long as it doesn't fall into a powerful demon's hands. It's safer to, as you would say, remove it from the playing field preemptively to avoid problems in the future." 

"Yeah, that's smart, Cas," Dean says, because it is. He almost wishes it was stupid so he could find a way to talk Cas out of it, but he can't with this. "Do you--I mean, obviously you don't need  _ help,  _ but I could--" 

"I'm fine to handle this on my own," Cas interrupts quickly, turning his gaze to some fixed point over Dean's shoulder. "Thank you, though." 

Always so polite. Dean smiles a crooked-smile, unable to help himself. "Alright, man, I'll walk you out." 

There really isn't anything else to do, anything else to say, so it's in silence that Dean walks beside Cas towards the garage. Sam nods and waves as they go, but there's an unhappy set to his mouth. That could have something to do with the table lifting one end to slide his laptop out of his reach, then lifting the other to have it slide the opposite way when he makes a swipe for it. Every time the two legs of the table come down, there's a dull thud, and Sam looks ready to flip the entire thing. Knowing Sam, who does  _ not  _ like his research interrupted, he just might toss the entire table across the room. 

"How long did you say it would be before the Bunker took it's next nap?" Dean asks weakly. 

Cas looks at him with an eyebrow raised. "I didn't. The symbol will fade, but a time frame isn't known." 

Dean sighs. 

They continue to walk on in silence, a strange distance between them. Dean doesn't realize how much it bothers him until he leans to the side to knock his shoulder into Cas', only to find that it isn't there. It usually is. 

Dean has to bite back the words, but they blare in his mind anyway.  _ Why are you so far away?  _ He doesn't say them, but he thinks them very hard, then tries to erase them from his brain entirely. Cas doesn't have to stand beside him, he doesn't have to be within elbow-bumping distance, and how close he lingers, or doesn't, is entirely his prerogative. Dean  _ knows  _ this, and yet, it still gets under his skin and has him frowning deeply as they get closer to the garage entrance. 

There's the sudden whip of air and a sharp  _ zzzznnh  _ beside his ear, and he comes to a halt with Cas as they both watch in surprise. Like a scene out of a movie, knives come whizzing by their heads at uncomfortable speeds and pivot in the air to face them, a faceless and nameless--but no less potent--threat. Dean shares a look with Cas, then they both turn towards the knives. 

"I need to leave," Cas says simply. 

The knives inch closer in warning. 

Dean puts his hands on his hips. "He's leaving whether you like it or not," he declares, and he's not entirely sure if he's talking to the Bunker or himself. 

The knives apparently do not like this because they tremble and shake in a vaguely furious way in the air. They drift a little closer, but Dean refuses to be wary of this sentient Bunker that has turned his not-so-normal life into a too-bizarre-to-dream-of-being-normal life. Cas had said it wasn't evil, so Dean trusts that. 

Cas, who does not enjoy being challenged, narrows his eyes and steps  _ towards  _ the knives with a glare. "I  _ am  _ going," he declares. 

"Yeah, man, just go ahead," Dean tells him with a snort, rolling his eyes as he waves a hand flippantly. "It isn't going to do anything. Too chicken shit to, I bet." 

Cas starts to head towards the door, but he freezes when the door slams shut with a loud  _ snap  _ and a knife whizzes by him. Dean barely has time to blink before the knife has whirred past him, slicing his arm in a clean cut that isn't deep at all but manages to have blood dripping in mere seconds. It doesn't really hurt, not after all the shit he's been through, so he just grunts and curses under his breath in displeasure. 

He cups the cut and looks up to wave Cas on, but he doesn't get the chance. The knife that cut him circles to his back and the sharp point presses in between his shoulder-blades, not too hard but enough to keep him from stepping back. In the same moment, another knife glides quickly through the air and settles against his throat firmly, not cutting but very obviously prepared to. 

"Dean," Cas says slowly, his lips tipped down as he takes in the current conundrum. 

Holding his hands up in surrender, Dean scowls at Cas and mutters, "Still think it isn't evil, Cas?" 

"It's not." Cas cuts a sharp look of betrayal to the rest of the knives hovering in the air, like he's upset they're making a liar out of him. "It just doesn't want me to leave, that is all." 

Dean hates that he actually agrees with the damn thing 

"Well, looks like you need to unpack," Dean tells him firmly, doing his best to keep the cheerfulness from his voice, grimacing when the knife at his back presses in a little harder. 

Cas sighs. "So it does." 

* * *

There are two fencing swords that have been in the Bunker for years--if the worn state of them is anything to go by--clashing and parrying in the air, no hands attached to them as they go back and forth. Dean ducks under a swipe and scowls at the swords as he steps farther into the library. 

"Hey, Sam, how's it going?" Dean asks. 

He doesn't know  _ why  _ he asks. He can already tell by the general air of annoyance around Sam and lack of interference from the Bunker than it's not going well at all. Chances are, there isn't anything to find. 

"There isn't anything to find," Sam grumbles. "It's making me crazy. What kind of idiots would come up with this kind of magic and not have any records of it anywhere? There's no  _ records,  _ Dean, none. They just have what it is, how it functions, and that's it." 

Sam looks ready to pull his hair out. Dean actually pities him a little. Sam with a problem that he can't research is never a good thing; it's the equivalent to someone walking up to a brick wall and beating their head into it over and over, even though they know it won't get them anywhere, and they just keep doing it regardless of the agony. What Sam needs is to step back and probably eat and possibly sleep for two days. 

"Alright, if there's nothing, then quit looking for a while. Here, I'll make you a sandwich, then you can go sleep the frustration off a bit," Dean says calmly. 

Sam, if anything, looks more frustrated. "I don't want to sleep off the frustration, Dean! I want to figure out how to speed up the symbol fading. I want to get  _ out  _ of here, to stretch my legs and--and go for a run!" 

Ah, that makes sense. Dean  _ definitely  _ pities him now. Anyone who misses their daily run is someone who needs to be pitied, obviously. 

"Dude, just take a few laps around the Bunker," Dean mutters, rolling his eyes. "It's big enough." 

Sam just grunts. 

"There's always the gym for physical activity," Cas murmurs as he steps into the room behind Dean, straightening up from where he also ducked under the clashing swords out in the hall. 

Sam perks up. "There is?" 

"Yes." Cas squints at him. "You didn't know this?" 

"No! Dude, if I knew there was a gym, I'd be there right  _ now.  _ Where is it?" Sam hops up and moves forward eagerly to reach out and clutch Cas' arm. "Show me." 

A few moments later, Cas is leading Sam and Dean towards the dungeon, which explains precisely why they don't know that there's a gym. If they can help it, they don't come down here. There's apparently a separate hallway that leads to the aforementioned gym, and Cas opens the creaking door, stepping back as Sam stomps in with hope in his eyes. 

Dean glances around in slight surprise. He'd been expecting this, for some reason, to be a modern gym. It is not. It looks like any gym from the 1950s left untended. Old-style punching bags, possibly the first ever style of exercise treadmill invented, a line up of old-fashioned cycle-bikes, lumpy training dummies, rusted dumbbells and barbells--all of it covered in a thick layer of dust. 

"Oh." Sam looks around with a wince, but he sets his shoulders. Apparently, he's not deterred. "Well, it has some, uh, potential. I'm going to be  _ right  _ back with three towels and some cleaning products, and  _ all  _ three of us are going to make this place usable. For your sakes and my sanity. Do  _ not  _ leave." 

Dean opens his mouth to argue, or tease at least, but Sam is obviously taking this very seriously because he just stalks past them and leaves them standing there. 

"Well, now you've gone and done it." Dean tosses up his hand and shakes his head. "We'll never see him again, and on top of that, he'll emerge a buffer asshole than he was, so thanks for that." 

With all the seriousness in the world, Cas says, "Don't envy your brother's fit physique unless you intend to do something about your own. He'll be happier now." 

"Unless I--fit?  _ Fit?"  _ Dean gapes at Cas, his hands coming down to gingerly press into his hips. He suddenly has the idea that they're wider than normal. "You think Sam has a fit physique?" 

"Yes?" 

"Hey, fuck you, it might not seem it under all this flannel, but my physique ain't nothing to scoff at. And I don't  _ intend  _ to do anything about it, because it's perfect just the way it is!" 

"I never suggested it wasn't?" Cas is doing that thing where he turns all of his statements into questions because he's distressed by the reactions he's caused by accident. "I would never scoff at it?" 

Dean almost immediately gets over his random burst of self-consciousness under the eyes of his best friend and clears his throat. "Yeah, well, don't." 

"I...won't?" Cas replies carefully, clearly having absolutely no idea what the fuck is going on currently. 

"Cas," Dean says in amusement, a soft smile curling his lips against his will, "we really gotta teach you tact one of these days, man." 

At this, Cas looks a little miserable. "Sam tried. I did not quite grasp the concept." 

Dean can't help it, he tosses his head back and laughs loudly, bubbles of amusement popping happily in his chest. He's half-sure that Cas is just fucking with him, but there's always the chance that he's not, and either option is equally hilarious. Just  _ Cas.  _ He's so effortlessly funny sometimes that Dean can't help but laugh. 

He's so busy laughing that he doesn't see the old jump-rope rise up into the air, and Cas apparently doesn't either, too busy watching him. Neither of them realize what's happening until it's too late. Dean's still laughing when the rope gathers him up and drags him closer to Cas, but his laughter tapers off into a sharp inhale when his arms are pinned to his side and his chest is pressed firmly to Cas'. They rear back automatically, attempting to peel their fronts away from each other, but the rope is steadfast and holds them in place. 

"We seem to be tied together," Cas notes calmly, staring down at the rope with a small frown. 

Dean sighs. "Yeah, looks like. Bet you're glad I brushed my teeth, huh?" 

"Why would I care about your oral-care habits?" Cas asks, looking up at him in genuine confusion. 

Dean knows what the reply is, but he finds the words getting lost around the sudden hitch in his throat. Cas up this close is a goddamn  _ hazard.  _ With their faces mere inches apart, it's easy to see how the lighting of the room affects Cas' eyes, taking them from an azure to a lighter olympic blue. The slope of his nose is perfectly straight and flares out wide, giving way to high cheekbones and indentions beneath the eyes to give the illusion of bags, despite the fact that he does not, in fact, need sleep. He has a five o'clock shadow that surrounds his chapped lips and dimpled chin. Separately, none of these things would look so damn  _ good,  _ and Dean knows they only really do because of who's behind it, who's wearing the features. 

From far away, this is just  _ Cas,  _ just what he looks like. But, up close, it makes Dean see just how handsome his friend is--like looking at Da Vinci's  _ Starry Night _ across the room out of your peripheral and knowing that it's art, only to step close enough to realize that it's actually a masterpiece. Dean finds himself hushed as he stares at his best friend, blinking in surprise. 

"Dean, what does brushing your teeth have to do with our current situation?" Cas, who's none-the-wiser to Dean's sudden realization, presses curiously. 

Dean clears his throat. "Ah, well, we're kind of in each other's faces, Cas. My breath? If I didn't brush my teeth, it would smell." 

"Oh." Cas squints. "Well, yes, then I see your point." 

"Can you break the rope?" Dean mumbles. 

"No. When I attempt to add pressure, it grows tighter. I think it would crush you in my endeavor." 

"Hey, maybe you can reach the knife in my pocket!" 

The rope tightens in warning. 

Cas sighs. "Even if I could, it seems that the Bunker would take drastic action to ensure that I don't. We can simply wait it out. Sam will return." 

"Taking his goddamn time," Dean mutters, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, working valiantly not to think about how closely they're pressed together. 

"The Bunker seems to have a desire to see us in…" 

"Compromised positions?" 

"Yes. Compromised positions. Do you have any idea why it does?" Cas asks him. 

Dean coughs. There's a worryingly large spider-web right above their heads. "No idea. Can't imagine why." 

There's a sudden thump to their right, and they both glance in sync to search out the source of the noise. One training dummy has fallen flat and faceless on the ground, and mere moments later, another one falls directly on top of it. They watch as the dummies begin to...well, writhe and gyrate together, leaving no room to doubt precisely what action they're meant to be re-enacting. All at once, Dean hastily looks away, while Cas just narrows his eyes and tilts his head. 

"Dean--" 

"Whatever you do, don't let us fall over." 

Cas glances at him, face smoothing out, eyes flashing with amusement. "I won't." 

"Where the fuck is Sam?" Dean hisses out, shifting restlessly and then immediately wishing he hadn't. 

"He should be back by now," Cas notes, entirely too calm for this situation. 

Dean is...not as calm, and he's only growing increasingly panicked. He can feel his stomach press into Cas' every time they both release a breath, naturally in sync. His heart is starting to realize that there's a reason for it to kick into overdrive, and frankly, the fact that Cas is warm and sturdy and  _ there  _ is starting to fuck with his head. 

The dummies in the corner continue to...wriggle. 

He lasts all of twenty more seconds where he inhales deeply and holds his breath before he tosses his head back and shouts, "Sam!"

Silence. No reply. 

"Sammy!  _ SAMM-EHHHH!"  _

Still nothing. 

Dean goes to scream again, this time even  _ louder,  _ but Cas quickly interrupts with, "Dean, stop, he won't be able to hear you. We're here until he comes back." 

"How are you so calm about this?" Dean snaps, tossing Cas a glare as he shuffles his legs. 

"Why wouldn't I be?" Cas turns his gaze to Dean, a curiosity glinting in them. "Why aren't you?" 

Dean stares at him blankly. "Cas, there are two dummies fucking in the corner and we're tied up together. In what world would I be calm, cool, and collected about this?" 

"Oh, is  _ that  _ what they're simulating?" Cas muses, sounding mere seconds from insulting the dummies technique. "There was some confusion, seeing as they lack the proper ability to mimic the--" 

"Okay, okay," Dean cuts him off, grimacing as he hops in place a little. His knees are killing him. "Just--can we not score the dummies on their sex routine?" 

_ How is this my life,  _ Dean wonders,  _ and why is it so fucking weird?  _

Cas dips his head with narrowed eyes before looking up in consideration. "You're uncomfortable." 

"We're kinda knocking knees here, man," Dean replies with a huff. Knees, and chests, and hips… 

"Here," Cas says easily, and then, before Dean can think to stop him, he shoves one thick thigh between the space of his bowlegs so their legs are side-by-side and twined together rather than right in front of each other.

Coincidentally, this puts Dean a hair's breadth away from humping Cas' thigh, so this is not at all the solution he was hoping for. 

He misses when his knees ached. 

"Cas," Dean says awkwardly, valiantly trying to pull farther away, to no avail. He means to say something else, but Cas' name just hangs there...awkwardly. This is all very awkward, and he hates it  _ so much.  _

It's just Cas. This should not be so uncomfortable, it really shouldn't. Out of all the people he knows, being tied this close to  _ Cas  _ should be the least complicated option, and yet... Dean isn't stupid enough to not understand why this is affecting him like this. He's not an  _ idiot.  _ He knows the exact reason he's contemplating just testing his luck with the rope and fighting to escape--if he were to be squeezed to death, at least he'd be out of this situation. 

_ Don't get a boner, don't get a boner, don't get a boner,  _ he chants internally, locked into place, too afraid to move. 

Cas clears his throat. "I realize, belatedly, that I've only managed to make this position more compromising than it was prior," he says, and great, now he sounds awkward, too. "If you'd like, we could attempt to shuffle over to the wall and lean against it more comfortably." 

Relief instantly hits Dean. It won't do a whole lot to improve their situation, but the fact that Cas is  _ trying  _ means more than he can say. See, Cas is a good friend. He's always been a good friend, even if he's made many mistakes, just like all of them, and those mistakes had been well-meaning. Why can't Dean do that? Just be a good friend without having to try at it. 

"Yeah, Cas," Dean says with a grateful sigh, "let's do that." 

So they do. It takes way too much time and tests their friendship at multiple points. By the time they make it to the wall, Dean's one hundred percent sure that he and Cas could make it through anything. They haven't always worked well together, often disagreeing on things, but Dean figures it matters more that they always want to be a team rather than opponents, even if it's not always executed smoothly. 

Leaning against the wall helps. Dean can cross his ankles and curve his side, while Cas stands normally, and it's almost normal if they ignore the fact that they're pressed so tightly together. Plus, in a weird way, Dean feels more secure having something else to meld himself to besides his best friend. He calms down a bit. 

"Better?" Cas asks. 

"Much," Dean confirms. 

They share a comfortable silence, both politely ignoring that the other is staring their fill. Dean is reminded, with a small pang in his heart, of Cas from the earlier years. The one much farther from humanity who treated social norms like an alien concept, always standing too close, always speaking too bluntly. He's come so far from that, though he kept most of his quirks, and Dean's proud of all the things he's learned. There's still the gentle prick of nostalgia that comes from remembering a Cas that relied on him a lot more than he does now. 

Dean knows precisely when that stopped being the case, can pinpoint the exact moment that Cas took a step back from letting Dean guide him through a heavenless purpose. He still remembers the betrayal and hurt on Cas' face when he kicked him out because of Gadreel's trickery. From that point on, Cas had stopped looking to him for example, which is entirely fair, Dean knows. 

It's like the saying goes,  _ once bitten, twice shy.  _ It fucking sucks that Cas' first lesson in humanity as a true human was that, but it hurts even worse that Dean was the one who taught it to him. 

These days, Cas keeps a lot of things to himself. He either doesn't trust Dean not to metaphorically bite him again, or he believes he can deal with his issues on his own. It drives Dean absolutely  _ nuts,  _ and it makes him want to help, except Cas won't ask for it, won't really accept it if he offers, and Dean knows that he's better off not thinking about it.

But...Sam has been pestering him to be a better friend, and after that whole Lucifer bullshit, Dean's more inclined to try harder. He supposes there's no better time than to try and pin down Cas with some "good friend" support than now, seeing as Cas can't flee at the first sign of Dean stumbling through an attempt. 

"So, uh, can I ask you somethin'?" 

Cas hums. "Of course." 

"When you were an angel before I was even born, up in Heaven doin' your thing, did you have your own personal room? Or, I dunno, somewhere to go when you took a break?" Dean mutters. 

"Time passes very differently in Heaven, Dean. And, even if it didn't, angels don't get breaks. We held our posts and carried out our celestial duties." 

"Right, yeah, kinda figured. So, you never really had your own place." 

"Well, in human terms, no. Being a part of the Heavenly Host  _ was  _ my place. It was where I belonged." Cas makes a small, considering noise. "It was peaceful, in a way. I was needed and wanted by all. It was...home." 

Dean's throat clicks when he swallows. "I know I--we, I mean, me and Sam--can't really compare to that, but I hope you know we, uh, think of the Bunker as your home, too. And, uh, you're wanted and needed by us. Not just because you're an angel or anything, either, but because you're family. You know that, right, Cas?" 

"I admit that it comes as a surprise," Cas says slowly, speaking carefully like this entire conversation is a minefield. "It's nothing you and Sam should blame yourselves for. I...abandoned Heaven to align with humanity, with the Winchesters, and I feel the need to help where I can, where others can't." 

"Okay, I get that." Dean does, is the thing, and it soothes him to hear it. "But, Cas, you can take breaks, man. That's the perks of siding with us. Even if you saved a life every day forever, you still couldn't help everyone. You told me once that I couldn't save everyone, so now you gotta take your own advice." 

"It feels...wrong," Cas admits uncomfortably, his nose wrinkling a little. Up this close, Dean can appreciate the way it makes his top lip pull upward. It's cute. "It feels wasteful to do  _ nothing  _ when I could be helping." 

Dean sighs softly, and he's only slightly surprised by how wistful it sounds. "You have no idea how much I  _ get  _ that. But, take it from me, if you don't get some R and R every now and again, it won't be pretty. And I'm not talking about you taking time to eat and sleep and all of that, because you don't  _ need  _ that. I'm talking about taking some time to live your life, or else you'll start resenting saving someone else's. And, trust me, you don't want that guilt on top of everything else." 

"I see your point," Cas murmurs, flicking his gaze away as he swallows thickly, just once. 

"Make a deal with me?" Dean needles, dipping his head to catch Cas' gaze. "You mostly know our schedule, right? So, why don't you work when we work and take some time off when we do? Or try to, at least?" 

Cas eyes him curiously. "And do what?" 

"Hang out with me, duh!" Dean grins for a moment, then coughs. "Uh, me and Sam, I mean. Watch movies, hang out, actually lay in your own bed every once in a while. Just, you know, get in the habit of being at home and taking some time to unwind." 

"I see." 

"Think you can do that?" 

Cas nods slowly. "I'm sure I could." 

"You will, then?" Dean presses, arching an eyebrow in challenge. "So, we got a deal?" 

After a brief moment of hesitation, Cas murmurs, "Yes, Dean, we have a deal." 

"Good." Dean is very pleased with his skill at being a friend, all of a sudden. He grins at Cas. "I'd say we shake on it to seal the deal, but...ya know." 

He wriggles his fingers pinned to his sides, managing to reach forward enough and tug on the pockets of Cas' trenchcoat. Cas glances down for a moment, then glances back up with the tiniest smile. Just a small lift at the corners of his lips, something Dean might've missed had they been further apart. 

But they're not. 

They're unbearably close, and Dean's gaze is drawn to that small smile like a fire chases gasoline, latching on and not letting go. Suddenly, he's thinking of another way to seal a deal. It would be so very easy to lean forward across the insanely small space between them, to cradle Cas' lips with his own, just to know what it's like, what it'll feel like. He's so  _ curious.  _

It'd take just a second, and the kiss could last that long, and that could be it. Just two seconds of Dean's life that he could treat as some feeble mishap, or two seconds he could cherish for as long as he lives. Just a warm, weighted brush of mouths, that's all. He could tell Cas that it was a mistake, that he'd lost his balance, or maybe he could just be honest and admit that he'd been curious, though that last option is highly unlikely. But still, it wouldn't even have to be a huge deal, not to anyone but himself, if he lets it. 

Dean realizes that he's bargaining with himself, talking himself into yet another monumentally bad idea, but he's not keen on stopping. Seriously, what's the worst that could happen? It's  _ just  _ a kiss, a very small one. 

He argues with himself for another split second, teetering on the edge between common sense and destructive impulses. In the end, however, the urge becomes too great--as it usually does, in the case of doing something stupid--and he forgets the meaning of caution for just a moment. Eyes still locked on Cas' lips, Dean moves forward just a little bit, halving the distance between their faces with just that. This is precisely the moment he makes his mistake. 

Foolishly, his gaze flicks up to Cas' for reasons he can't fathom, and he looks up to find that Cas is just watching him. There's not much reaction that Dean can gather from his expression, but there's no mistaking the understanding that lights Cas' eyes. He knows  _ exactly  _ what Dean is doing, as he often does, and he's simply staring patiently, mildly curious at best. 

Dean, who now has alarms blaring in his mind, decides to further the lengths of his deep-rooted idiocy by slowly dragging his gaze away from Cas' to instead focus on his lips again. Distantly, he can understand that he's a little entranced, sucked into the moment and proximity, but he also knows that this is entirely his fault. Cas hasn't done anything besides be himself, and Dean's just too damn interested for his own good. 

And he decides, then and there,  _ fuck it.  _ Because why not, right? If Cas was going to protest, he'd have already done it, but he's clearly willing to see this play out. 

Dean just fucking wants to know, wants to find out how it feels, that's all. He always has, he thinks. 

It's quite possibly the easiest thing he's ever done, plunging past that small sliver between them and closing his eyes. The world has all but melted away, stopped turning, everything. The desperate need to  _ know  _ has won out despite his best efforts, so he goes for it. 

He can feel Cas' breath puff out against his lips. 

"Okay, I'm back!" Sam chirps as he comes barreling into the room, bursting right past them, not even noticing them leaning against the wall. 

Dean can suddenly feel his heart racing in his chest and the soundless roar in his ears abruptly makes itself known. He jerks back from Cas as much as the rope will allow, his eyes flying open wide, lips parting in pure shock. Cas stares at him, not saying a word, but there's something in his gaze that Dean can't put his finger on. 

"Where'd you--oh." Sam whirls around to find them, and his eyebrows hit his hairline. "Uh, am I interrupting?" 

Dean is proud that he doesn't burst into flames from the amount of heat that floods his cheeks. 

"No," Cas says calmly. "We were waiting for you to return. Another practical joke from the Bunker." 

"It's not funny," Dean grinds out, mortified. 

_ I did not just do that,  _ he tells himself.  _ Nope, not me. Not me and Cas. Didn't happen.  _

Sam, of course, thinks it's hilarious. Dean lets him laugh, because at least someone gets to, but he escapes the room the moment that Sam cuts the rope free. 

As he hurries out of the room, he can hear Sam mutter, "Uh, Cas, why are those two dummies...humping?"

Cas doesn't reply, but Dean can feel the weight of his gaze like a tangible touch as it follows him as he flees. 

Dean does not look back. 

* * *

"Oh, hi." 

"Hello, Dean." 

Dean clears his throat and glances down the hallway curiously. He sees almost immediately what has Cas hovering outside his door at three in the morning. On either side of his doorway is just a wall of various objects stacked from floor to ceiling--books, pillows, kitchen appliances--and all of them are probably not going to budge anytime soon. Cas doesn't exactly have a choice besides standing outside his door; he doesn't have anywhere else he can go. 

"How long have you been standing out here?" Dean murmurs, refusing to be impressed by the Bunker's apparent dedication to this cause. 

Cas sighs. "Precisely an hour and a half. I stepped out to go retrieve a book since I finished my last one, but instead, I was...guided to your door and trapped here." 

"You coulda knocked." 

"I didn't wish to wake you." 

"Well," Dean mumbles, "you may as well come in. You know that's what the Bunker wants anyway, and I'm gonna be real pissed if I can't get out to get my morning coffee in about five hours." 

"I thought you weren't interested in indulging the Bunker?" Cas raises both eyebrows. "You said, and I quote,  _ 'No, Cas, fuck that, we can't keep giving it what it wants. That's how it wins.' _ Which, to be fair, that's not an inaccurate assumption." 

Dean scoffs. "Dude, you don't even wanna know what I would do for my coffee. Besides, it's not like I'm gonna make you wait outside all night. Come in." 

Wordlessly, Cas walks into the room as Dean steps back, his eyes immediately falling towards the place where the chair used to be. The chair that Dean stupidly moved into the kitchen just yesterday when all the other chairs started chasing each other in the war room. The only chair he'd had in his room, and also the only place Cas could sit besides the bed. 

Dean sees the problem immediately. 

Cas, however, must decide that standing awkwardly in the corner is the perfect solution because that's exactly what he does. He's done that before, not as often as he used to, but it doesn't look normal anymore--not that it really did back then. Now, he fidgets and shifts his weight, gaze bouncing around the room, a restlessness to him that he doesn't even seem to realize. 

He's been mimicking human nature for so long that it's a part of him now, especially after being a human for some time. He most likely doesn't even realize it, just that second nature to be doing something  _ socially acceptable  _ that has overshadowed his long-forgotten ease with turning into a statue in the corner. 

"I don't mean to keep you awake," Cas finally says after the silence stretches on for too long. 

Dean coughs and looks around the room. The bed is way too small for them to even  _ attempt  _ lying or sitting side-by-side, not that he'd be brave enough to suggest it if it  _ was,  _ but still. The only option is the floor, but then he will feel weird if Cas is just sitting down there by himself, even if he really wouldn't mind. He has one pillow, his one blanket, and nothing else to offer. 

"I wasn't planning on going back to sleep," Dean lies, scanning his room desperately. "I'm not tired." 

"You look tired." 

"Fuck off." 

"Dean," Cas rumbles, amused, "just go back to sleep. Do not stay awake on my account. I can--" 

"So help me, if you said  _ I can watch over you,  _ I will kick you out," Dean declares flatly. 

Cas' lips twitch. "No, that's not what I was going to suggest. I will simply wait outside." 

Well, now Dean will just feel bad if Cas leaves after he's already invited him in. It's not really being a good friend if he were to take Cas up on that offer, but he considers it anyway. It'll be a lot easier in the grand scheme of things, and he really is tired. Still, no, he's better than that. 

"No," Dean mumbles, and he one hundred percent doesn't sound annoyed, no sir, not him. "You can just--" 

Whatever else he was going to say is cut off by the sound of his lock flipping, which is just...great. 

Cas sighs again. "Well, it seems I can't leave." 

"I'm starting to get real tired of the Bunker deciding where you can and cannot go," Dean snaps, flipping off one of his walls. In response, the mug of cold coffee he didn't finish this morning is pushed off rather violently by the lamp on his nightstand, sending the mug to the floor where it shatters and spills. "Oh,  _ come on."  _

_ "I'm  _ starting to tire of the Bunker treating you to impish, childish behavior," Cas says sharply, glaring at one of the walls as if it's actually getting threatened. The Bunker claps back by knocking over the lamp, too. 

Cas narrows his eyes further, and Dean just heaves a sigh and flaps a hand at him. "Leave it, man. I'm in no mood to fight with the asshole. Just go in my hamper and bring me one of my used towels so I can clean this up." 

He does as he's asked, and as Dean cleans up the glass and spilt coffee--and Cas rights the lamp--he considers precisely what they can do to pass the time until Sam can either kick the door down or pick the lock,  _ or  _ the Bunker decides to let them out. 

It comes as absolutely no surprise and with some amount of sheepishness that his brain immediately turns to sex. He bets the bed wouldn't seem too small, then. And, in retrospect, it's actually just big enough, depending on the activity. 

Okay, no. 

Dean has definitely learned his lesson, thank you very much. Maintaining distance from Cas is essential to keeping his sanity in check. The further away he is, the less likely he is to try something as fucking dumb as he did three days ago when he'd gotten the idiotic idea to kiss Cas--which Sam thankfully interrupted. They haven't talked about it since, even though Dean  _ knows  _ that Cas was aware of exactly what was going on, but in all honesty, Dean doesn't  _ want  _ to talk about it. 

It's not like he doesn't know, okay? He  _ knows.  _ Despite the fact that he tries his absolute best, he really isn't as oblivious to certain things as he wishes he were. Trying to kiss Cas is very telling, and it's not like he can just  _ ignore  _ it, even if he's avoiding the repercussions. 

Avoidance is very hard to manage while being stuck in a room with Cas for roughly five hours. 

"Dean," Cas murmurs calmly, "if you still want to--" 

"Have you ever played tic-tac-toe?" Dean blurts out, eyes landing on a shabby notebook and cheap pen. 

Cas squints at him. "No. What is the purpose of it?" 

"It's a game." Dean turns to ball up his towel and toss it back into his hamper, basketball-toss style, fistpumping when it goes in. He then turns around with a small smile to grab the notebook and pen. "Here, look. First question, do you want to be X's or O's?" 

"What's the benefits of each choice?" 

"Nothing, really. Some people think one or the other gives 'em good luck. Some people just always play as one thing and won't play as the other--like Sam, he's always O's and refuses to be X's, so I'm usually those." 

"What would you like, then?" Cas asks. 

Dean shrugs. "I can give O's a shot, why not? It doesn't actually matter. Alright, so c'mere." 

As casually as he can, he leads Cas over to the bed, gesturing for him to sit towards the end, while he takes the top, sitting cross-legged. As Cas arranges himself with one leg hitched up on the bed and the other straight down beside it, Dean lays the notebook between them and explains tic-tac-toe as he draws the lines for it. 

Cas picks it up pretty easily after his initial questions ("What is the point of this game, and doesn't everyone realize that it's favored for whoever goes first to win?" "There really isn't a point, Cas, and this is a game based entirely on skill and strategy. It is  _ not  _ rigged.") and he proceeds to beat Dean multiple times in a row. As soon as Dean realizes that he's already been surpassed, he moves to Hangman. Despite Cas' initial reservations ("Dean, this game seems morbid in intent." "Eh, don't think about it too much and just guess letters, dude."), he participates with far more interest than tic-tac-toe managed to draw out of him. Cas gets surprisingly competitive on Hangman, coming at Dean with a word consisting of fifteen letters, which he looks at and simply says, "Nope," before suggesting Dots and Boxes. Cas likes this one more than tic-tac-toe, but not as much as Hangman, and so they do that for a while, passing the pen back and forth as they tease each other for what choices they make on their turns. 

It's surprisingly relaxing. 

Dean knows he's pulling out all the big guns, keeping them busy the same way he used to keep Sam busy when they were just kids, stuck in a hotel room while their dad was either out on a hunt or out getting wasted, either option equally likely. In a weird way, it's very human to sit here and do this, and it's something Dean hasn't done in years. He actually enjoys it, and seeing Cas get  _ really  _ into it certainly makes it more fun. 

In the end, though, Dean reaches a point of boredom that has him yawning every other word. Every time Cas tries to suggest he go to sleep, Dean waves him off and starts a new game. But, eventually, even Cas is a little tired of the same three games on repeat, and Dean has reached the end of his rope with it. 

He's also gotten  _ way  _ too comfortable in the midst of all this. He's now laying on his side, head in one palm while the other writes, and he's not too far from Cas' knee. He could probably drop his head there and drift right off into sleep, but that's a little too intimate for his tastes. 

"You mentioned you played this as a child?" Cas asks him, frowning as he draws in the last leg of Dean's man, who is now hanging. The letters and spaces are: 

_ahersha_a_hash_a_

"Yeah," Dean mutters in confusion. "Dude, what the fuck is this word?" 

Cas frowns at him. "Mahershalalhashbaz. It's of Hebrew origin and means: swift are the spoils, speedy is the plunder. It's really obvious, Dean." 

Dean stares at him. "Yeah, Cas," he says sarcastically, "I have no idea how I missed that, either." 

"Dean," Cas chides, his lips curling up as his eyes dance with amusement. 

"I gave you simple things. Like  _ pink elephant, angel, hangman,  _ and the ever original,  _ Dean Winchester."  _

"A child could figure those out, Dean." 

"It's a child's game, Cas." 

Rolling his eyes, Cas drops the pen to the notebook and sighs. "You don't often talk about your childhood. Did you play these games often?" 

"Yeah, I did, actually. Sammy and I didn't have a whole lot to do in the hotel rooms, and he was the kinda kid to get bored with TV real fast, so I tried to keep him entertained. And, you know, I played these a lot in school when me and whatever friend I had at the time was ignoring the teacher's lessons." 

"School." 

Dean glances up at Cas. "Yes? What about it?" 

"You went." 

"I did." 

Cas tilts his head slightly, considering Dean in a curious manner, though his eyes are oddly fond. "What was it like?" he murmurs. 

"What, school?" Dean's eyebrows rise up as Cas nods, and he blows out a deep breath. "Well, I didn't finish for one thing. Got really close, about halfway into my senior year, but we ended up moving. I missed too much and would have had to repeat the year, so I just...dropped out. Dad said I could help him with Hunts if I did and got my GED, so I went that route." 

"And school itself. Did you enjoy it?" 

"Honestly? No, not really. Not like Sam did, anyway. He liked the normalcy of it, liked that no one talked about monsters or knew to put down a salt line in front of their door before bed. But that always bothered me. I felt--I dunno… I guess I felt too grown-up to be around people who were worried about high school drama when my Dad was risking his neck every damn day to make sure regular people like them could live their boring lives." 

Cas hums, nodding in understanding. "I see. Would you go back, if you could?" 

Dean blinks rapidly. "To school? Hell no. It's just not my thing. Sam probably would, I think." 

"I don't." Cas pinches the thin cover on the bed between his fingers and makes a small sound in the back of his throat. "I think Sam is comfortable with who he is now, and I don't think he'd change his life." 

"You know, I dragged him into all this shit." Dean waves a hand, gesturing to the world as a whole, knowing Cas will get what he means. "Snatched him right outta college with some bullshit about needing his help to find Dad. Next thing I know, his girlfriend is dead, he's got special powers, and we're in it for the long haul. And, well, here we are, still in it." 

"Do you regret taking him from school?" 

"I mean, no, not really? It came out later that one of his friends was actually a bad guy. Azazel would have still got to him eventually. Maybe it's selfish, but I'm glad we got on good terms before all the heavy shit hit." 

Cas arches an eyebrow. "You and him were on bad terms before he went to college?" 

Dean grimaces. "Eh, sorta. Less me, more him and Dad, but I was  _ with  _ Dad for a while, so it carried over. Plus, I felt kinda pissed off that he didn't want to be in the life. But, deep down, I was proud of him, and I think Dad was too, in his own way." 

"I never met your father," Cas muses, his gaze drifting to the side as he frowns. "You don't talk about him often." 

"Count your lucky stars, man. You think  _ I'm  _ bad? My Dad woulda chopped your head off the moment he laid eyes on you. He wasn't the trusting sort." 

"Well,  _ you  _ stabbed me." 

Dean grins. "Ah, and look how far we've come. But my dad wouldn't have ever come around. Actually, he probably wouldn't have wanted you around me at all." 

"What?" Cas asks sharply, his gaze snapping over to Dean in incredulity. "Why?" 

"Well, no offense, but you ain't exactly human, Cas. Dad wasn't too fond of anything that couldn't fit into the human category, even wavered on Sam for a minute there because of his, uh, abilities at the time." 

"He would have attempted to seperate us?" 

Dean bites back a laugh and a protest at Cas' wording, choosing instead to tip his head back in his aching palm and look at him better. "There wouldn't have been any attempting. He would have told me to stay away from you, so that's what I would have done." 

"Impossible," Cas says seriously. "You were my charge. He would have had to tolerate it, regardless, or else the wrath of the angels would have been released on him." 

"You tryna say you would have smote my dad, Cas?" Dean asks in faint amusement. 

"Delicately, but yes." 

"Just to hang out with me?" 

"We were doing much more than just  _ hanging out  _ in those times, Dean," Cas tells him, as if Dean's being obtuse and might have forgotten. 

Dean snorts. "You can say that again. And that's another thing. Dad would have  _ especially  _ disliked you because you were very, ah, Dean-oriented back then." 

"Dean-oriented?" Cas echoes, narrowing his eyes. 

"Up my ass, I mean." 

"Strange, I recall that you were the one to frequently pray for me when I was otherwise busy." 

"We all remember things differently, man, it's okay." 

"I remember things  _ accurately."  _

"Uh huh." Dean rolls his eyes. "My point is, my dad wouldn't have liked you, so I'm glad you didn't have to meet him. He's my dad, but he was an  _ asshole.  _ Way worse than I am, trust me." 

"Do you think, after everything I've done up to this point, he would be more inclined to me?" Cas picks the pen back up and fiddles with it, a furrow in his brow. "I would think a man like you're describing would appreciate or respect--at the very least--the good that I  _ have  _ done, few as those acts may be." 

Dean frowns, reaching out with his free hand to still Cas' fingers that fumble with the pen. "Hey," he says, not even surprised by how much his voice has softened, "you've done plenty of good, Cas. We all fuck up, that's just life. If you wouldn't blame me for all my screw-ups, then you can't blame yourself for yours. Or, I don't know, you can. We made the mistakes. Sam says some shit about taking responsibility for your actions and then trying to be better, so...that. He explains it better, but he's got the right idea." He drops his gaze to his hand that still rests on Cas' now immobile fingers. "As for my dad...he probably wouldn't. Maybe, I don't know. You've saved the world, but he still probably wouldn't treat ya right. If he showed up tomorrow…" 

Cas clears his throat. "What? Would he try to seperate us, then? I don't have the wrath of the angels backing me anymore," he murmurs. 

"Nah, you don't," Dean agrees, "but you got me. I'd tell him to kiss my ass. He could either like it or deal with it. Sam and I wouldn't put up with his shit, and we definitely wouldn't let him treat you like shit." 

"And what about me being...Dean-oriented?" Cas asks slowly, blinking down at him when he flicks his gaze up. 

Dean can feel his tongue slip out to wet his bottom lip without his permission.  _ "Are  _ you still...you know, that?" 

"You've always been my favorite," Cas admits shamelessly. 

"Oh hell, don't tell Sam," Dean jokes weakly. 

Cas doesn't smile. "He knows. He always has. He's also very aware that I care for him just as much as I do you. Just...differently." 

"Right." Dean rips his gaze away from Cas' and goes back to staring at their hands that are still resting together, wondering when he'll get his shit together and break the contact. He clears his throat. "Well, uh, I'm sure my dad would be...himself about it. An ass, like usual. But I wouldn't put up with it, and Sam would chew him up and spit him out in your defense, and you  _ know  _ no one survives Sam's lectures." 

"That is true," Cas agrees, his lips curling up when Dean gathers the courage to look up and check. 

"Why are you so interested in this stuff all of a sudden? You never really asked me all this before." 

"Well, we don't have much else to do besides talk, and it never hurts to learn more about you. You're not usually in such a forthcoming mood, so I rarely broach any subjects you seem to naturally shy away from." 

"My dad and my childhood." Dean snorts and shakes his head. "I am a basketcase. You know that, right?" 

Cas chuckles throatily. "We all have our flaws, Dean." 

"And yet…" Dean swallows and lets his gaze crawl up to Cas', his heart racing in his chest. "I'm your favorite." 

"You are," Cas confirms.

"You'll figure it out one day and change your mind about that, Cas, mark my words." 

"I won't." 

Dean's hand beneath his head is numb and pinpricks are travelling up and down his arm, but all he can focus on is the gentle adoration in Cas' gaze. "You could. I really ain't nothin' special, man." 

"You are," Cas says softly. 

And yeah, that's enough of that. Dean takes a deep breath and glances back down to their hands. Somehow, his pinky has hooked onto Cas' without him noticing. The sight makes his stomach swoop. 

Slapping down this complete one-eighty, Dean firmly announces, "Well, you are too, you know. Special, I mean. Not just because you're an angel, but because you're Cas. And you're my favorite, I guess. Well, no, that's Sam, but he wins by default because he's, you know...my little brother. But he's on a separate scale that no one can rank on, which has little to do with anyone else and everything to do with me.  _ Outside  _ of that, however, you're my favorite." He opens his mouth, closes it, and huffs out a sigh. "God, I'm such a shitty friend. That's not--I'm not explaining this right. What I'm  _ trying  _ to say is that you're my favorite like Sam is my favorite, but...not. Does that--am I making sense?" 

"In the same sense that I care for you and Sam equally, but wholly different," Cas suggests. 

Dean nods, looking up at him. "Yeah, like that." 

"Thank you, Dean," Cas murmurs simply. 

"You're welcome," Dean replies in relief. 

He feels strangely exhausted after that, drained just from talking about so many things he's skirted around for long enough. They dip into a long silence, and that's pretty much his undoing. Before he can truly fight it, his eyes droop and he begins nodding off without meaning to. They've been at this for at least two hours, which means it's after 5am, and Dean is so fucking  _ sleepy.  _

"Go to sleep, Dean," Cas whispers. 

Dean jerks a little, mumbling, "M'wake." 

"Yes, of course," Cas agrees with a small laugh. 

Dean's aching hand suddenly stops hurting, the feeling coming back into it, and his head is suddenly pillowed on what he knows--even half-asleep--is Cas' leg. He's far too tired to lift his head, though he tries, but fingers brush along his hairline before lightly dragging through his short hair after a brief pause of hesitation. He can feel that one of Cas' hands beneath his own that he reached out with earlier is gone, and he knows it's that hand that swipes through his hair once more. 

That's all she wrote. He's out like a light, just like that. 

* * *

Dean needs at least five days to recover from falling asleep with Cas running his fingers through his hair, while they also practically held hands. Cas had, of course, kept up those actions dutifully through the night, then treated everything normally the following morning, like nothing was amiss. Dean had, of course, rushed off for his coffee as soon as he realized his door was unlocked, stumbling over not only his words but also his feet as he went. 

From there, Dean has spent the last five days with Sam as much as possible. Cas is usually there, too, but it's always okay because Sam is the perfect distraction and buffer. It helps that Cas is not, in any way, acting as if something has happened between them, to the point that Dean's beginning to question if anything  _ has.  _

The Bunker has also been less invasive lately. It's quieter, almost. Less chaos in their daily routines. Oddly, Dean's starting to think he's going to miss it, just a little. 

They check the symbol on the wall every day, and it's definitely fading. The Bunker's pranks have turned mild, few and far between, and it seems to have given up on forcing Cas and Dean into compromising positions. In fact, it's actually been oddly helpful lately. 

Dean points this out one morning over breakfast, mumbling through a mouth full of bacon, "The Bunker helped me cook today. Isn't that weird? Normally it would snatch the spatula outta my hand or something, but it actually flipped the pancakes for me." 

"It's saying goodbye." Cas doesn't look up from his phone as he says this, a small frown on his lips. "If I had to make a guess, I'd say it has a day left before it retires fully from its sentience. As I said before, it isn't evil, and I'm positive that it's fond of us. Being helpful is its way of parting ways positively." 

"Why is that sad?" Sam mutters, frowning down at his eggs. "I did  _ not  _ get attached to a mostly inanimate Bunker. I didn't." 

"Humans will bond with anything," Dean mumbles. He waves his fork around. "You see that shit about people caring about their roombas and stuff? It's like that, but you actually have a reason. I mean, you're still crazy for caring, but at least you're not crazy like that." 

Sam scoffs. "Oh, like you aren't just  _ a little  _ sad to see it go. Admit it, you're gonna miss it." 

"Nah," Dean says vaguely, then immediately stuffs his mouth with more bacon. 

Sam and Cas share a smile. 

"It will be nice to have the freedom to leave once again," Cas says casually. 

Dean chokes on his bacon, his eyes watering as Sam reaches over to beat on his back. He has to gulp down some of his coffee before he can clear his throat without coughing, and then--and  _ only  _ then--does he look at Cas and blurt out, "But what about our deal?" 

"Deal?" Sam leans forward. "What deal?" 

"Cas matches his schedule to our schedule," Dean surmises quickly, still eyeing Cas. "You agreed, man." 

Cas frowns. "Well, yes, but I do really want to go get the other artifact I told you about. You're welcome to join me. And you, Sam." 

"What artifact?" Sam mutters. 

"A demonic one. Just a precaution. Better to get it off the board before anyone gets their hands on it," Dean explains rapidly, still staring at Cas. "And we have a case that we wanted to look into." 

"So, do that." 

"You'll probably be done before we will." 

"Most likely." 

"And what are you going to do after you're done?" 

Cas glances down at his phone. "There are...other situations that I can--" 

"You  _ agreed,"  _ Dean insists. 

"He can't match our schedule perfectly, Dean," Sam says reasonably. "What if he's just starting something when we finish what we're doing?" 

Dean shoots his little brother a glare. "Stay out of this, Sam," he snaps. 

"No, he makes a fair point." Cas raises both eyebrows, an expression that can only be described as bitchy crossing his face. "What will I do then?" 

"Finish up and come home," Dean says easily, ignoring it when Sam leans back in his chair with a deep exhale of surprise, like Dean's words have stunned him. 

Cas raises his eyebrows  _ more.  _ "There's always the chance that you'll be starting a case by the time I'm heading back h-here. Sometimes our schedules simply don't match up, Dean, so it would be smarter to--" 

"Home." Dean leans forward, his lips twisting bitterly as he stares intently at Cas. "This is your  _ home.  _ Why can't you seem to accept that?" 

"Dean, you insist that it is--" 

"Because it is!" 

"--but it's… I'm not--it isn't that simple for me," Cas says, stumbling over his words in a way he rarely, if ever, does. His throat bobs. 

"Dean," Sam murmurs. 

"Stay  _ out  _ of it," Dean declares sharply, pointing at Sam in warning before turning back to a wide-eyed Cas. "I don't understand what you're struggling with here, man. It's the simplest thing in the world. This is as much your home as it is mine and Sam's." 

"Dean." Cas grimaces and doesn't elaborate. 

Tossing up his hands, Dean scoffs. "You're making this harder than it has to be. You always do. This is home, and all you gotta do is hang out here sometimes. Why is that so hard for you?" 

"I'm not saying that it's hard," Cas bites out, visibly getting frustrated now. 

"You're not saying  _ anything,"  _ Dean snaps. 

Cas scowls. "And you're not  _ listening."  _

"Come on, Cas," Sam mumbles awkwardly. 

"Your brother was correct in one thing, and it was that you should stay out of this," Cas says firmly. 

Dean rolls his eyes. "Oh, it's  _ 'your brother'  _ now. You're just being difficult on purpose at this point." 

"I'm not being difficult," Cas growls out, his eyes bright with annoyance, sparking with anger. It's an unfairly attractive trait that Dean's always been a little weak for, though he won't admit it. "You're the one who refuses to understand, and it's  _ you,  _ Dean, who has pushed the notion that this place is where I belong, even when I have neither agreed with or denied that claim." 

"Because this  _ is  _ where you belong! You don't have to go, Cas. This is your  _ home.  _ Why are you acting like that's something you can't wrap your head around?!" Dean shouts, slamming one hand down on the table. 

"Okay, that's  _ enough,"  _ Sam declares sharply, leaning forward like he's going to fly off into one of his lectures, but Cas slams  _ both  _ hands down on the table and pushes to his feet, cutting him off. 

"Because, Dean, it is hard for me to fathom!" Cas explodes, his nose wrinkling into a snarl as he leans forward to pin Dean with a glare. "There was a time that I considered this my home, the place where I belonged because it was with  _ you.  _ And then I did have to go! You kicked me  _ out,  _ so I apologize if I'm approaching this surprising offer of housing with caution!" 

Dean's heart drops in his chest and he blinks rapidly in shock--and, admittedly, hurt--as Cas snaps up straight, whirling on the spot and stomping away. 

Sam sighs. "That. That's what I was trying to avoid." 

  
Dean's fork flies from his hand and smacks him on the back of his knuckles, and all he can think is,  _ yeah, I really deserved that one, huh? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, we have located the problem, folks. Carry on to see how it's resolved--if it is 👀 
> 
> Do stop and let me know how you're liking it so far, please and thank you! 
> 
> -SOBS


	2. Finding the Solution

"Come on, Cas," Dean mutters, banging his forehead lightly against Cas' bedroom door. "Just let me in so we can hash this out, man." 

Nothing. No reply, no sound of movement, not even an insult thrown his way. 

Dean sighs and pulls back to look at the door. "Bunker, now would be a  _ great  _ time for you to cross some boundaries and help me bust my way in here to apologize." He waits, but the door stays stubbornly locked. "Right, of course not, why would you? Thanks for that, really. Stellar fucking job." 

Not even a reply from the Bunker in the form of some object swatting him somewhere. This groveling bullshit is weirdly lonely and also unpleasant as  _ fuck.  _

"Alright, Cas," Dean calls out with a huff, "I guess I'll just wait out here for you to come out. You have to at some point, right?" He taps his knuckles to the door, chewing the inside of his bottom lip. "So, I'll just, uh, be...here. Waiting. Just, you know, biding my time." 

Still nothing. 

Dean sighs and murmurs, "Okay," before turning and putting his back to the wall beside the door and sinking down, placing his arms on his knees and closing his eyes. 

He waits. 

He waits so long that his entire body protests being in this position and he regrets making the decision  _ to  _ wait, but he's too stubborn to back out now. Waits so long that Sam steps over his outstretched legs on the way to bed, telling him goodnight and shooting him a look that's half-amusement and half-something else that just translates to  _ man, you're in deep, aren't you?  _

Dean flips him off. 

He continues to wait for much longer. So long, in fact, that he ends up nodding off right there in the hallway, wishing desperately that he was in his bed instead. He drifts off wondering if Cas had spent many nights like this, cold and wishing for the comfort from a warm bed, except it had to have been much worse for him--lost and confused as he was with nothing to his name. 

Dean does not sleep well. He's almost thankful when his eyes snap open at some point in the night. He can tell that he's actually gotten  _ some  _ shut-eye, despite the discomfort in both his mind and body, and there's a stillness to the Bunker that immediately has him thinking that it's some time past midnight. He blinks around and finds the source of what woke him up almost instantly, his eyes falling on Cas, who's just standing over him with his lips pressed into a thin line. 

"Hi," Dean rasps. 

Cas sighs. "Hello, Dean." 

"Fancy meeting you here," Dean jokes, inwardly rolling his eyes when it falls flat. 

"You've been waiting here," Cas says, and it sounds both like a statement and a question all at once, somehow. He stares at Dean for a moment longer before looking away and gesturing to his door. "Alright, you may come in." 

"So, what, I'm allowed to plead my case now?" Dean mutters as he heads into Cas' room. 

Cas throws him a sharp look. "No, you're allowed the entry that you seem determined to have." 

"You gonna hear me out?" 

"It depends on what you have to say." 

"Fair enough." Dean nods and crosses his arms, setting his shoulders and moving his feet further apart like he's bracing for all the wind to be knocked out of him. With what he's about to do, it's going to feel that way. "So, apologizing is cheap because I should have done it way before now, and I know that. I'm going to do it anyway because--as Sam puts it--I may be too late, but that doesn't mean I have to give too little. So, I'm sorry. There are a hundred better ways I could have handled what happened, and it's not--I never should have just...brushed past it like it wasn't fucked up. It was, and I know that, even if--if I stopped thinking about it." 

"Dean," Cas mutters, and now he sounds awkward, like he's realizing that Dean is  _ really  _ doing this. 

Dean holds up a hand. "Nope. Just--just do what I never do, and listen. I stopped thinking about it, and I stopped caring about it, but I've  _ always  _ carried that guilt with me from the moment you walked out the door. It will always be one of my biggest regrets, and trust me, I got plenty to choose from. But, ultimately, this ain't about me at all. This is about the fact that something I did made you feel like shit, made you feel something that I'd kick anyone else's ass for even  _ daring  _ to make you feel. And I can't change it, can't go back and make it better, can't even come up with some sort of reason that can explain  _ why  _ I did something so stupid. You know why, and you forgave that, but Sam said that doesn't make that feeling that you don't belong go away." 

"Sam is right," Cas admits with a grimace. "It's infuriating. I hold no true contempt for your actions, and I truly  _ understand  _ them. And yet, I still…" 

"I know. Trust me, I get it. I've been a human for decades now, and this shit is still confusing as fuck for me, so for _you…_ Yeah, I get it." Dean sighs and drops his arms, losing his defensiveness in a heartbeat. "Like I said, I can't fix it. I can just tell you where I'm at now. Right _now,_ and from here on out, there's not a damn thing in this world that can ever make me kick you out of this goddamn Bunker or my life. I don't want you to go, alright?" Stomach squirming, heart racing, he shrugs helplessly and swallows. "It's as simple as that. I want you to feel at home here again and with--with me. So, uh, I'll just keep telling you that until you _can_ fathom it." 

Cas is silent for a long moment, staring at Dean without showing any emotion on his face, and then his eyes slide to the side sheepishly. "I suppose that I can, ah, be more open to returning here more often and attempting to keep a somewhat similar schedule to yours and Sam's." 

"Good. That's--I mean, I'm glad," Dean admits, the tension in his shoulders easing. He blows out a deep breath, eyes bulging as he considers the canon-sized bullet he just dodged, miraculously. His lips naturally spread into a grin right after. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it? Sam calls this  _ communication,  _ whatever that means. The kid has some wild ideas, but man, they really come through sometimes, huh?" 

Cas' eyes roll around in their sockets, going up and over, landing on Dean. His lips twitch. "Sam is very smart, yes. I like his ideas more than yours, usually." 

"Take that back," Dean jokes, pointing at him, his muscles still quivering with giddy relief. "You take it back right now. My ideas are  _ awesome,  _ man." 

"You once had the idea to put peanut butter in Sam's shoes when you two were fighting." 

"It's called a prank war, Cas, and that was a  _ good  _ prank." 

"If you say so." Cas looks away for a moment, then focuses right back on Dean with a seriousness that he hadn't shown a moment before. "I feel that I should apologize as well. I shouldn't have--"

"Dude, come on, you don't have anything to apologize  _ for.  _ Besides, the moment has passed, so let's just leave it where it was at." Dean quirks a small smile and waves a hand lazily. "But I will say that, uh, when you  _ do  _ leave to go do your thing, while Sam and I go do ours, you can call me, or text, if you want. Just--just to check in, or just because you want to, like you do with Sam." 

Cas hums, a small smile gracing his face as he ducks his head like he means to hide it. Dean's hands itch to reach out and tilt his chin up, just so he can continue to see this new-normal smile, but he balls his hands into a fist instead as Cas gives his reply. 

"That offer extends to you in reverse, you know." 

"Yeah, Cas, I know. And, trust me, I'll be taking you up on that offer plenty. You'll get tired of me, I promise."

Cas glances up, his smile gone, though it shines fondly from his eyes. "Not likely." 

"Well," Dean says, a little surprised by the breathless quality to his voice, "I guess we'll find out, won't we?" 

"I guess we will," Cas replies nonsensically. 

Dean clears his throat, tingles running soft, enticing electric currents under his skin. His heart is racing, and his hands are stiff from how hard he's working to keep them to himself, and what the fuck is  _ wrong  _ with him? One almost-kiss and a night falling asleep on Cas, and now he can't control himself? This is supposed to be about making Cas feel at home here, not finding any opportunity to--to do whatever it is that he's doing. 

"I'm gonna--I should get some sleep," Dean mumbles, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. 

Cas nods. "Of course. If...the Bunker will let you leave. If it won't, you can always sleep here." 

Dean knows precisely what Cas is offering, and it nearly cripples him. The chance to replicate the last time he fell asleep in Cas' presence is  _ highly  _ tempting. More than just liking how it made him feel, there's also the fact that it had been extremely restful--there's just something comforting about Cas running his fingers through his hair while he's asleep, and the intimacy of them holding hands long after he drifted off is equally compelling and terrifying. As brutally awkward as the morning after had been, Dean knows he'd do it again a hundred times over. 

_ In too deep, man,  _ his brain scolds him, and he forcefully tells it to fuck off. 

"Thanks," Dean says weakly, clearing his throat again as he takes a step back towards the door. "I'm just gonna--" 

He pivots mid-word, inwardly groaning at his own inability to save face lately. Seriously, what the hell has gotten into him? 

Without another word, Dean marches to the door and puts his hand on the handle, grasping it. It's the simplest thing to just  _ turn it,  _ to find out if it'll open or not, but his hand stays frozen. He's a little worried that the door will actually open and his excuse to stay will be snatched from him. He stands there for a moment longer, then finds himself dropping the handle and turning around with an awkward chuckle. 

He hears himself say, "Welp, guess the Bunker is still being a little shit," and he is  _ deeply _ embarrassed for himself, but he lets that statement hang there, not knowing if it's the truth or a lie. 

Cas moves to his overly neat desk, grabbing the pen and notepad there, holding it up. "Dots and Boxes?" 

Dean reaches up to rub the back of his neck, his stomach fluttering, and he mumbles, "Yeah, Cas, Dots and Boxes." 

* * *

Cas' bed is the same exact size that Dean's is, so he comforts himself with that when he finds himself mirroring the position he'd been in the last time he shared a bed with Cas. 

There's something a little different about this go-around, however. Dean can tell that their hearts aren't quite in the little paper-games that help pass the time, and it just feels like a placeholder for something else, as if they're trudging through this part and biding their time until they can get to the good stuff. The problem with  _ that  _ is, Dean isn't sleepy at all, which puts off the  _ 'good stuff'  _ portion of this entire night--that being the acceptable intimacy as Dean falls headfirst into sleep. 

But tonight,  _ of course,  _ he feels wide-awake and hyper-alert. There's a sense of anticipation that clamps around his heart and keeps his stomach in regular activity, goddamn butterflies fluttering around like he's suddenly a teenager again. He tells himself over and over that he will  _ not  _ be doing anything with Cas that he shouldn't, but his brain doesn't believe him, the bastard. 

Unfortunately, this has him a little distracted. 

"Dean," Cas scolds lightly, "that is the third time you've missed the opportunity to get tic-tac-toe." 

"Shit," Dean mutters, frowning down at the paper. He hasn't actually been paying attention. "Shit," he says again, this time with feeling, "you even left it open for me. Hey! You're trying to let me win, dude!" 

Cas rolls his eyes. "I'm not. I was gauging whether you were actually playing or just going through the motions. Your heart does not appear to be in it." 

"Sorry." Dean winces and drops the pen on the notebook, reaching up to scrub at his eyebrow as he stares at the many games he's lost. "Just...thinking." 

"Would you like to talk about it?" Cas offers, sounding a little unsure, as aware as Dean is that they don't often  _ talk  _ about things. 

Dean absolutely refuses to talk about this. "Nah, I'm good. Nothing really, uh, to talk about, not really." 

"Perhaps you should rest." 

"I would, but I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep."

"Another game, then?" Cas asks. 

"Sure," Dean says with a sigh, "just let me get situated again. My entire left arm is asleep."

Cas waits patiently for Dean to rearrange himself, sitting cross-legged across from him, their knees almost brushing. Once Dean is settled, he suggests, "Do you know any other games?" 

"Yeah, I know plenty. You got thumb-wrestling, rock-paper-scissors, the classic staring contest. Shit like that; me and Sam used to play those all the time." 

"Thumb-wrestling… Show me?" 

So, that's what Dean does. He walks Cas through another set of games, relaxing a bit as they go through them. Cas finds thumb-wrestling  _ extremely  _ amusing, even though Dean wins every time, and he's content to play until he gets his first win--it takes a surprising amount of time. Rock-paper-scissors is just not Dean's game, apparently. He's rarely won it against Sam, except a couple of incredibly lucky times in his life, and he runs into the same issue here. Cas swears up and down that he has a tell, but fuck if Dean knows what it is. 

Everything is going just fine, right up until the staring contest, and then things take a sharp turn. 

Dean starts off by saying, "So, whoever blinks first loses. You can try to make the other person blink, but you can't actually touch them. Also, you don't really look away from the other person, that way you can make sure they're not cheating and blinking." 

"Alright," Cas says, nodding in understanding. 

"Okay, so on the count of three." Dean blinks rapidly, getting them in while he can. "One...two...three…" 

They lock eyes and go still, hands on their knees, breathing quietly. Dean recognizes this as a mistake almost immediately. Here they are, sitting across from each other, staring into each other's eyes, and it's not doing  _ anything  _ to help the anticipation skittering under his skin determinedly. 

Cas has  _ really  _ nice eyes. He always has. It's not Jimmy Novak, though Dean had thought that at first, right up until he saw Jimmy  _ as  _ himself and realized that, without Cas, those eyes are just...blue. Just that and nothing more, no reason to get lost in them or glance twice, and Dean can pretend all he wants that it's not a big deal, but sitting here now...he knows it is. Because Cas' eyes are more than  _ just blue,  _ they're fucking magnetizing, dragging his gaze back over and over. It's so simple just to look at them,  _ into  _ them, because it's like seeing a breathtaking sight that you never want to forget.

Something happens. Dean can't really pinpoint what it is, or how it does, but something _happens._ A change in the atmosphere, a spark in the space between them, a different look in their eyes. _Something._

Then, just like that, he isn't breathing properly and every inch of him wants nothing more than to reach out and reel Cas in. His gaze--traitorous as it always is--flicks down to land on Cas' lips, disregarding the rules, not giving one shit if Cas is blinking while he isn't looking. Christ, how has he become  _ this  _ obvious about his long-standing feelings for Cas? The ones that he's been dealing with for years, that he knows inside and out, yet still can't make sense of. The ones that are so simple and complicated at once--summed up by his desire to be close to Cas in any and every way possible, but so much more than that. 

He used to tell himself that it was simple attraction because Cas is hot, and maybe it started out that way, but Cas has become such an intricate part of his life over the years that it can't be  _ just  _ that anymore. He's always been content to just go on about his business, letting it play in the background most of the time, but ever since this  _ fucking  _ Bunker has come alive, he's had the reality that it's something intense shoved in his face over and over. Cas gets dumped in his lap, or they get tied together, or forced into hanging out with no other interruptions. What else is Dean supposed to do besides think, and wonder, and realize? 

It all boils down to this one heart-stopping moment where his eyes are locked onto Cas' lips with unabashed intensity, and he can't breathe. 

Those lips part around a shaky exhale, and Dean watches, gets to see what it looks like when there are no other distractions to take away from what Cas' mouth is currently doing. He's never zoned in  _ this  _ hard, to the point that he can watch the chapped lips catch and drag apart in slow detail. Dean doesn't even mean to, but he blinks in awe, and his gaze snatches up to Cas' immediately after. 

"You blinked," Cas rasps out roughly, his voice gravelly and thick, sending a shiver down Dean's spine. 

"God," Dean breathes out, "I really don't  _ care."  _

With that simple declaration, he shoves the notebook off the bed with a quick swipe, sending the pen skittering under Cas' nightstand, and he rolls up onto his knees in one smooth motion. He gets to see Cas' chest swell with one deep inhale before his hands reach out to cradle Cas' cheeks, his body following the momentum that puts him in direct line to catch Cas' lips with his own. His eyes flutter shut as he shuffles forward to settle his knees over Cas' thighs and lower himself down into his lap, giving him the slightest angle above to kiss Cas thoroughly. 

He knows almost instantly that the kiss he attempted before wouldn't have been a short one, not if this is anything to go by. Because Cas kisses  _ back,  _ tilting his head a little to enrich the contact. His hands come up to grip Dean's lower back, wrapping around him and pulling him closer, hiking up the intensity with ease. 

Dean isn't thinking, just acting. He slides his hands into Cas' hair and tugs a little. Without even realizing that he's doing it, he swipes out his tongue over Cas' bottom lip, shamelessly wanting to make-out like they're a couple of teenagers who can't go any further but want to do this as heated and deep as they can get away with. He makes a small sound of approval in his throat when Cas reciprocates, parting his lips more, letting Dean in. 

Things escalate quickly from there, and Dean is content to let it. He makes an encouraging noise against Cas' mouth when the hands on his lower back slide around to grip his hips and haul him up, pushing him backwards to the bed. They break apart briefly, Dean landing with an exhale, Cas following the descent of his body like it has its own gravitational pull. They stare at each other for a moment, entirely silent. 

Finally, Cas rumbles, "Dean." 

There's a lot in that one word, in his name, and Dean hears it all. The want, the caution, the understanding. 

"Cas," Dean replies in a croak.

There's a lot in that, too, and Cas seems to know exactly what Dean is saying.  _ I want this, I want you.  _

With gentle slowness, Cas settles his weight more firmly against Dean, blanketing him with his body, his legs bracketed by Dean's, and he dips down to kiss Dean again. It's slow and exploratory this time, stealing Dean's breath and making him braver. He cards his fingers through Cas' hair, enjoying the softness of the strands, murmuring something that may be approval or just Cas' name against his lips. Cas hums in response and kisses him hard, the hand on Dean's hip sliding down to grip his thigh, fingers digging bluntly into his jeans. 

There's a moment where this starts on the path to sex, and Dean realizes they're scarily close to it when he feels his own hard length twitch in his jeans as Cas' lips break from his to instead latch on his throat. 

"Okay," Dean gasps out, eyes flying open in both surprise and eagerness. "Okay, yes, definitely. But uh, Cas, I--we're kinda overdressed, don't you think?" 

When Cas pulls back, his lips are full and red, and his pupils have expanded to leave a small ring of blue. He blinks. "Yes," he agrees, "we are." 

It's a rush-job after that, both of them trying to remove the annoying amount of layers they have. They keep getting distracted, stopping in the middle of undressing to kiss again, exploring each new piece of skin that's revealed. More than once, Dean has to dig deep to find the strength to push Cas away to remove more clothes. 

By the time they've made it to their underwear, they're barely sparing enough time to even try and attempt to remove them, hands roaming, lips chasing, bodies pressing in closer together. Dean revels in it, in the intimacy and intensity, liking sex as much as he always has, but even more so with Cas, who he's wanted for a very,  _ very  _ long time now. 

It becomes apparent at some point that they have no official plans for where this is going, which Dean would usually be okay with. Under normal circumstances, he'd be down to just make it up as they go, getting off together however suits them, except this isn't normal circumstances. A tiny, rude voice in his head tells him that this may be all he gets, tells him that this means so much to him because this will be all he'll have to remember, tells him that he better take what he can get now because he won't have the chance to do it later. 

That's why he shoves lightly at Cas' shoulders, nudging him back, panting out, "We--Cas, what are we doing?" 

At this, Cas' eyebrows crumble together. "I don't understand your confusion. I thought it was fairly obvious what we're doing." 

"Yes, okay, I know  _ that."  _ Dean huffs and rolls his eyes, fighting back a fond smile. "I just mean, how far are we going here? How much are you...you know?" 

"Oh." Cas' eyebrows smooth out. "Whatever you want. I'm...interested in all of it." 

Dean nods. "Okay, great. I need--we need lube. Gimme on sec to--" 

"I have lubricant," Cas tells him. 

That makes Dean pause. "What?" he blurts out. "You do? Where?  _ Why?"  _

Cas reaches over to his nightstand, straining to reach in and fumble around for what he's looking for, drawing out the lube with a grunt and easing back to where he was, splayed out on Dean. "Here. I use it to shine my shoes. It works very well." 

"You--" Dean stops, pressing his lips together as he processes that. He blinks. "You use it to--no, you know what, that's fine, that's perfect. Small mercies." 

"There, lubricant," Cas says firmly, pushing the bottle into Dean's hands and diving in to kiss him again. 

Dean is more than a-okay with that, and he loses himself to it for a few moments, the hand holding the lube going slack as the other reaches up to twine in Cas' hair. Kissing is a relief and so _ , so  _ good. They're already comfortable with it, seeking it out eagerly, gasping into each other's mouths and arching closer. 

However, it only succeeds in making them want  _ more.  _ Dean's getting impatient, his cock throbbing in his underwear, and by Cas' grunts and low growls, he's also reaching a point of sexual frustration. 

"Okay, okay," Dean chokes out, turning his face away to break their kiss. "Cas, we gotta actually, you know, get to the point if this is gonna get better." 

Cas hums, his lips trailing down the column of Dean's throat. "So, do it," he murmurs between nips.

Dean shudders, his eyes fluttering. "Yeah, 'kay, just a quick question. Do  _ what?  _ You haven't told me what you want as far as the next step, Cas." 

"Dean," Cas mutters, pulling back with his eyes narrowed, which just makes him look adorably rumbled and frustrated, "does it honestly matter? You would know better than I the mechanics, so just  _ do it."  _

"It doesn't matter, really," Dean replies, reaching up with his free hand to trace the small wrinkle between Cas' eyebrows, weirdly entranced by it. "Still, you don't go shoving your fingers in anyone's ass without talking about it, Cas. That just ain't right." 

"Fine. We talked about it. Now, do it," Cas tells him simply, pressing a very quick peck to his lips, immediately pulling away when Dean chases his lips. 

Cas rolls off of him and falls back, reaching down to slide his underwear off without any shame whatsoever. Dean finds himself wondering, as he stares at Cas' cock, what makes Cas think he'll know the mechanics. He does, technically, from porn and the few times he's done it to himself, and okay, there was that one time with… 

Yeah, Cas knows him too well. 

This is better, Dean thinks. Cas has no qualms about any of this, no preconceived notion that it's wrong, no care about what anyone would think about him. Long ago, Dean might have felt all of those things strongly, but these days, he can feel only the faintest echoes of it. Still, it would be enough to make him hesitate before spreading his knees. Cas doesn't hesitate at all. 

Something kind of  _ clicks  _ in Dean's brain, almost like a caveman possessiveness, but much softer--just the need to make this good for Cas, to do it right, to make sure that this will be the best he'll ever have. He wants Cas to think of sex and immediately recall this, nothing or no one else. Because, deep down, Dean knows that will be the case for him, that he's ruined for anyone else, just from this, from the sight of Cas laying naked before him. 

"You're beautiful," Dean finds himself murmuring, his stomach tightening with how  _ true  _ those words are. Even more than just how Cas looks, he's beautiful as a person. 

Cas' face softens. "Thank you, Dean. So are you." 

The moment is soft and sweet, and Dean's worried he'll screw it up somehow, so he scoots over to prop himself up and kiss Cas again. This is the best thing to do for the moment because he can feel Cas smiling softly against his lips, and it makes his heart swell, his own lips responding in kind as they widen into a fond grin. 

Cas huffs a throaty chuckle and ghosts his fingertips over Dean's cheek, still smiling into the kiss. It's oddly domestic and honey sweet, but Dean's too pleased by it to care. It turns out that feeling Cas' smile pressed into his own is world's better than just seeing it from across the room. 

Of course, then Cas nips his bottom lip almost playfully, and the sweetness dissolves from there. A few nips to each other's lips, and then they're kissing desperately, curling into each other closer, their hands roaming. 

It takes even less time to reach the same level of urgency they were at before. Dean fumbles for the lube through a daze, his mind foggy with arousal, and Cas gives a grunt of encouragement when the lid finally opens with a snap. Dean feels it's safer to smooth lube over Cas' length first, less trepidation in that when he  _ knows  _ Cas will like that. 

Cas does like that. A lot, in fact. So much so that his hips jerk and his kiss turns sloppier, open-mouthed and wet, distracted by what Dean's hand is doing. 

Dean doesn't linger too long, knowing to pull his hand away when Cas starts whimpering and clawing down his back with one hand, a mindless gestured bred from pleasure. He kisses Cas, soothing him, murmuring for him to relax for what comes next, unsure if Cas will like that nearly as much. 

Cas doesn't like that nearly as much. But he doesn't seem to hate it, either. His kisses don't derail from the pleasure, and he won't be leaving scratch-marks behind because of it, but he stays pliant and patient, humming into Dean's mouth in reassurance. It's not until a little bit later when Dean's up to two fingers and slipping in and out with ease that Cas seems to react at all. 

Dean has absolutely  _ no idea  _ where the prostate is, but it's common knowledge that it feels good. That turns out to be true because when he accidentally finds it, Cas' entire body locks up and he rears back from the kiss to grit out, "Dean, do that again." 

So, Dean does, and Cas likes that even more than he'd liked Dean stroking his cock. From firsthand knowledge, Dean knows why. That feels fucking good, if done right, and it pleases him that he's doing it well enough to get that reaction. He feels proud of himself, in a way. 

Eventually, Cas is opened up enough that Dean feels confident in what comes next. He pulls his fingers free, easing away and grabbing the lube while watching Cas' eyes open slowly. They're bright and cloudy with desire, and there's something else there, too--a deep yearning, an endless longing, and Dean doesn't understand. It makes his heart ache, gives him the ridiculous urge to wrap Cas up in his arms to protect him--Cas, who never needs coddling, who would probably  _ severely  _ dislike Dean trying to shield him from anything. 

"Cas," Dean whispers, freezing in place, moved by the emotion that he can't place. 

With a blink, it's gone, and Cas reaches up to draw him into another kiss. This one feels different than the rest; it has a meaning behind it, like Cas is pouring that emotion behind his eyes into it. Dean doesn't know what it is, can't translate it from his eyes or the kiss, but it somehow makes him want to pull Cas as close as he can get him and never let him go. 

Instead, he lets Cas turn the kiss into something heated. It's searing then, setting Dean's nerves aflame, silencing his mind. He makes a small sound in the back of his throat that turns into a whine embarrassingly quick when Cas' hand finds his cock. He has to break from the kiss with a curse, pressing his forehead to Cas', his eyes screwed shut as his arms tremble from holding him perfectly still as Cas maps out every inch of his cock. 

"You should apply lubricant," Cas rasps in his ear, making a full-body shiver run over him. 

Dean nods frantically. "Right, right. Gotta let me go first, Cas, or I'll stay here forever." 

Cas' fingers freeze where they are, wrapped around his cockhead, squeezing gently to draw out a moan from him. Quietly, Cas whispers, "What if that's what I want?" 

"Then keep doing what you're doing," Dean says huskily, not registering Cas' words fully. "But I gotta warn you, if you do, we won't get to the next part." 

Cas removes his hand after a weighted beat. "No, I would very much like to get to the next part." 

Dean releases a deep breath, his eyes opening to see Cas watching him in fascination. "Yeah, me too." 

He rushes to get enough lube on his cock, still half lying on his side. He's just about to push himself up and move between Cas' legs when Cas suddenly sits up. He blinks at him, pausing, but Cas pays him no mind as he pushes up to his knees. Then, without preamble, Cas knocks Dean's hand away from his own cock and throws one leg over him to straddle him. 

"This way?" Cas suggests. 

"Fuck," Dean chokes out weakly. 

Cas tilts his head, still hovering over Dean's cock, a very tiny smirk gracing his lips. "Is that a yes?" 

"Yes, definitely yes, one hundred percent yes," Dean blurts out, hands twitching at his side. 

With that, Cas reaches down to grab Dean's hand, pushing it between his thighs, urging him to help guide it into Cas' body. The moment the head breaches, Cas reaches down to pull Dean's hand back, taking over from there. Dean drags his hands up and down Cas' thighs, staring up at him with his breath caught in his throat. 

Cas is a vision. He goes achingly slow, sinking done one inch at a time, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes have closed, but his lips are parted around a sigh, face slack with pleasure. His hair is a wild mess atop his head, giving him the just-fucked look even though they're just getting started. Dean can't tear his gaze away, even as he gasps and groans around Cas' tight heat enveloping him so slowly. 

Once he's fully seated, Cas opens his eyes and sucks in a sharp breath at whatever expression he sees on Dean's face. He falls forward, hands on either side of Dean's head catching himself as he leans down for a kiss. It makes him slide off Dean's cock a little, which in turn has Dean moaning into his mouth. 

Like this, while kissing, Cas rocks back and forth a little, as much as the space will allow, adjusting to the new feeling. He hums in approval every time Dean makes any noise, like he's enjoying the taste of them. But he must reach a point where he's comfortable, because he breaks away to lean back, bracing his hands on Dean's chest. 

Then Cas fucks him. 

He  _ fucks  _ him. Really,  _ really  _ fucks him. Pulls off nearly all the way, the muscles in his thighs straining, then pushes back down. Over and over, faster, harder. It's the best kind of torture, the feeling of Cas fucking himself on Dean's length, clenching around him, his nails digging into Dean's chest. He hikes up the tension, his hips rolling and swiveling like he's a pro, head tilted back as he gasps and moans shamelessly. 

Dean is...gone. Almost immediately, he's overwhelmed by how fucking  _ amazing  _ it feels. All he can do is slam his head back against the pillow and scrabble at Cas' hips, feeling them move sinuously under his palms. He's only distantly aware that his nails are digging in, most likely leaving behind indentations that will remain through the day, but Cas is no better. He full-on  _ scratches  _ Dean, dragging his nails down his chest, never hard enough to hurt, but with enough force to add to the intensity, and those marks will linger for longer. 

They trade words, praises, and sweet-nothings back and forth through their moans and gasps, barely even hearing themselves. It's all, "That feels so fucking good, Cas, keep going, just like that," and "Oh,  _ Dean, _ this is...you feel immaculate." That, and so much more, right up until they can't do much more than call out each other's names with reverence and awe. 

Dean never wants this to end, but he can feel the approaching orgasm like a rising ride waiting to crash ashore. It makes his toes curl, makes him bite his bottom lip hard, his hands urging Cas to go faster. He finds it within himself to pull his hand back and wrap it around Cas' cock, stroking it to the rhythm that he moves. 

Cas stutters mid-motion, a choked off gasp falling from his lips in the form of,  _ "Dean,"  _ and then the tunnel around Dean's cock clenches around him. 

Dean's eyes snap open just in time to see a flush take over Cas' face as his mouth drops in a soundless shout, nails clamping down on Dean's chest as he finds release with his hips rising and falling in a broken rhythm as Dean works his length over. If he thought Cas was a vision  _ before…  _ Christ, he's unwholly prepared by the sight of Cas falling apart, and he watches with wide eyes, heart racing in his chest. Cas is… 

He's everything. 

With a long drawn-out groan, Cas stops spilling over Dean's fingers and down to his stomach, and he pants as he starts riding Dean again with determination. Dean drops his cock, and Cas' entire body twitches and trembles as he continues to fuck Dean with all the energy he has in him. But Dean is still stunned by the sight of Cas coming undone, and all he wants is to pull him close, so that's exactly what he does. 

He slides his hands around Cas' back, tugging him down, and he plants his feet into the mattress. The moment they are chest-to-chest, Dean kisses him hard, using the new position to fuck him, pistoning his hips and swallowing all of Cas' whimpers. He pulls away with a low moan when his orgasm crashes over him as he buries his length into Cas fully. He throws his head back and clings to Cas, finding release as Cas presses tiny kisses to his jaw and cheek, sighing happily. 

When Dean is done, they lay there like that, spent and panting, sweaty and still holding onto each other. They're silent, not saying a word, their heads turned away from each other. The moment yawns wide between them, nearly stifling with unsaid things and declarations that he can't seem to force himself to make. Dean has to break it, to make it okay somehow, to ease them into the part where they can cuddle and go to sleep without too much weighing on their mind. 

He swallows thickly and turns his head, looking down at the crown of Cas' messy hair. After a brief moment of hesitation, he presses a kiss to the top of his head, but Cas doesn't react at all. 

"Hey, uh, Cas," Dean says softly. 

No response. 

Dean frowns, eyes narrowing suspiciously. He leans forward to check, and yep, Cas is out like a light. Dean blinks in surprise at seeing Cas sleeping when he never usually does, though...Dean supposes he  _ can.  _ He just doesn't really need to, or want to, and he certainly never gets comfortable enough to do so. 

The thought that he's comfortable enough now, with him, makes Dean quirk a small, fond smile. Still, they can't sleep like this, covered in their own mess. He very carefully eases Cas to the side, but he quickly finds out that there's no need. Cas sleeps like the dead, apparently, and he even does that adorable snuffling thing, smacking his lips before they go right back to being slack. 

Dean manages to free himself from the bed and locate his underwear--which had apparently been tossed clear across the room--and he finds a neatly folded rag on the dresser. He has no idea what Cas has it for, but it's clean, so Dean snags it. He makes quick work of the clean-up, eager to slide right back into bed beside Cas while he still has the chance, and he has to swallow multiple delirious chuckles at the fact that he's literally wiping Cas' orgasm from his stomach. He even cleans Cas up as much as he's able, wondering if Cas will appreciate it or think it's weird. Though, after Dean had his dick in his ass, why would he? At some point, things stop being weird, and Cas rarely finds things weird  _ at all.  _

Discarding the rag, Dean slips right back into bed, nudging at Cas to get him onto his side. He doesn't have to fight to get his arms around Cas again, not when Cas rolls into him without ever waking up, hands reaching out insistently to search for him and pull him closer. Dean tucks his soft smile into Cas' throat and closes his eyes, basking in the comfort of this. 

He falls asleep with that smile still on his face. 

* * *

"So, how was it?" 

Dean blanches, dropping the spatula with bulging eyes as he gapes at his little brother, who's walking into the kitchen with his eyebrows raised. "How was  _ what?"  _ he chokes out in horror. 

"Uh...talking to Cas?" Sam says slowly, his eyebrows lowering and wrinkling. "You weren't out in the hall when I went for my run this morning, so I assumed Cas finally let you in to talk. Or did you give up and just go to bed?" 

"Oh." Dean clears his throat, picking the spatula up and tossing it in the sink, grabbing another from the drawer as he avoids Sam's eyes. "Yeah, he let me in. We...talked." 

"And?" Sam presses. 

Dean whips his head around to stare at Sam with wide eyes. "And? And  _ what?"  _

"And...what happened?" Sam asks, this time with even more slowness, his eyes narrowing. 

"Right," Dean mutters, gripping the spatula as bacon sizzles and pops in the pan. Sam continues to stare at him with suspicion, and Dean clears his throat. "We talked, Sam. We cleared the air." 

"That's it?" Sam leans his shoulder against the doorjam, crossing his arms as he surveys Dean. 

"We talked," Dean repeats and focuses entirely on pushing the bacon around in the pan. 

Sam snorts. "Yeah, I got that. What else?" 

"Else?  _ Else?  _ Who said anything about  _ else?"  _ Dean mumbles, darting his gaze over to a very unimpressed Sam. Yeah, there's really no point, is there? Dean gives up with a sigh. "We fucked, Sam. Me and Cas. We had sex." 

"Oh." Sam blinks, then his lips disappear as he tucks them in, but there's a jump in his cheek like he's trying very hard not to laugh or grin. He clears his throat a moment later, apparently in control of himself. "Right, so are you two dating now?" 

Dean sullenly flips the bacon. "You coulda at least acted a little more surprised, Sam." 

"Oh, please. I was surprised every day that went by when you two  _ weren't  _ doing...you know." Sam comes ambling into the kitchen, smacking him lightly on the back on his way to the fridge. "About time you two got your shit straightened out." 

"We're not dating, Sam," Dean says, looking over to watch his brother slam the fridge without grabbing the bottled water he went in for. 

"What? Why not?" Sam's face twists into a frown, and he huffs. "What the hell did you do  _ now?"  _

Dean's eyebrows jerk up in offense. "Excuse me? Why do you assume  _ I  _ did something?" 

"Because you  _ always  _ do something. You have this special talent with mixing up what you  _ mean  _ and what you  _ say  _ to Cas. It gets lost in translation, somehow, like you don't know how to say things right." 

"Thanks, Sam. Really appreciating that vote of confidence. Awesome little brother support from you, really. I'm so glad you have faith in me." 

Sam rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean, Dean. But,  _ if  _ you didn't do anything, why aren't you in him making googly eyes at each other like you always have, but more, you know, open about it?" 

"First of all, we don't make googly eyes." Dean flips Sam off, glaring at him. "And second, we aren't dating because...we just aren't." 

"Did you  _ tell  _ him that you want to?" 

"Who says I want to?" 

"I say, after putting up with you and Cas dancing around each other for so damn long," Sam mutters. 

"Oh, boo boo. I'm so sorry my romantic entanglements have been a source of pain for you." 

"Frankly, so am I." 

Dean drops the last of the bacon onto a plate and then throws the spatula at Sam's head with all his might, smirking victoriously when the greasy end smacks into the side of his hair. "Fuck  _ off,"  _ he declares triumphantly. 

"Dean!" Sam bellows, touching the greasy patch in his hair with a scowl. "Dude, you got oil in my fucking hair!" 

Dean smirks. "You sound like a girl." 

"So do you!  _ Oh, I'm in love with Cas, does he love me, does he love not?"  _ Sam mocks with unflinching bravery. 

"I have a whole pan of oil over here," Dean grits out. "Do  _ not  _ test me, bitch." 

"I was  _ trying  _ to help, jerk," Sam snaps, grimacing as he pulls fruitlessly at the clump of greasy hair. "I was going to say that it might be best for you just to talk to him, a wild concept for you, I know, but it could clear some things up. And you  _ do  _ want to be with him, so don't even try and lie about it." 

"Stop whining, you needed a shower anyway." Dean rolls his eyes at Sam's dramatics. "And, if you must know, we actually talked plenty last night." 

Sam arches a doubtful eyebrow. "Post-sex?" 

Dean refuses to blush, he  _ refuses  _ to. He meets Sam's gaze head on as he defiantly says, "No, he fell asleep." 

"He--" Sam tucks his lips in again, but this time it's no use. He busts out laughing, hair flying around his head as he shakes it and tries to wheeze out apologies. 

"Get out." Dean points towards the door. "Just go." 

Sam lets out a high-pitched sound as he tries to gather himself, but that sound seems to set him off again. Dean grabs the pan of oil in threat, pointing more forcefully to the doorway, and Sam nods through his laughter, stumbling towards where Dean points. He hangs off the doorjam, wrangling his laughter until he only has a wide smile on his face. 

"Just talk to him, Dean," Sam says with amusement, his eyes dancing with his restrained laughter. 

Dean narrows his eyes.  _ "Out!"  _

Sam walks off, his laughter drifting in behind him. Dean rolls his eyes and sits the pan down, leaning up against the stove as he grabs the plate of bacon, curling it close to his chest. He immediately starts stuffing his face, trying very hard not to think about how he left Cas in bed, naked and alone, snoring peacefully. 

He tries, but he fails. 

* * *

Dean and Sam have carried on like this morning's spatula-throwing never happened, as siblings do, and they sit themselves down to do more research on the case they're supposed to be heading off towards as soon as the Bunker finally goes to sleep. 

Sam's apparently doing a deep-dive, getting ahead a few days for seemingly no reason, but Dean sure as hell isn't going to complain. It saves him the trouble later. Besides, it can't hurt to be  _ extra  _ prepared. He doesn't really mind helping now, since it's keeping him distracted from the fact that Cas still hasn't made it out of his room yet. 

Just before he can get seriously concerned, Cas makes his way into the war room with a slightly dazed look on his face. He even stumbles over one of the chairs, and his hands fly out to keep it from falling over. He pats it and clears his throat, looking over at them with wide eyes. 

Okay, now Dean is  _ actually  _ concerned. First of all, it's not nice of Cas to come rolling out into the world wearing nothing but his fucking button-up shirt and slacks, plus his shoes seem to have a suspiciously new shine to them. On  _ top  _ of that, his hair still looks like he's just finished having sex, and he's done nothing to hide the hickeys a very enthusiastic Dean from last night seems to have left up and down his throat, though the Dean from this morning doesn't actually recall leaving  _ that  _ many--and shit, he didn't even  _ think  _ to check the state of his own neck; he probably has his fair share, too. 

But, overall, it's not the crime of Cas coming into the room practically naked and looking good enough to make Dean's mouth water that's worrying. It's the wide-eyed wonder on his face, as if he's walking around and seeing everything for the first time. 

"Cas," Sam says warily, "are you good, man? 

"I  _ slept,"  _ Cas tells them with such wonder and enthusiasm that Dean's heart clenches with affection. 

Dean clears his throat. "Uh, yeah, that...happens." 

"No, you don't understand," Cas continues fiercely, stepping further into the room. "I can sleep, all angels can if they desire to, but we don't get  _ tired,  _ not like humans do. I haven't felt exhausted like that  _ since  _ I was human, and it was much more pleasant this time." 

Dean's face  _ burns.  _

"Well," Sam says, amusement trembling in his tone, on the verge of laughter, "I'm glad you got some sleep, Cas. You know, if that's something you like, I could probably help you get tired, too." 

_ "What?"  _ Dean barks, his head snapping over to Sam so fast that he may or may not get whiplash. 

Sam grins at him. "Not like  _ that,  _ Dean. I just meant that running with me in the mornings would probably be enough to warrant a nap. You know, if you're not around to, ah, wear him out." 

"I don't care  _ how  _ I fall asleep," Cas snaps, apparently annoyed that they're not giving him their full attention about this very important matter. "I just wish to do it again. I feel strangely refreshed." 

"Yeah, I probably can't help you put the pep in your step," Sam tells him, chuckling. "That's all Dean." 

"You are dead to me," Dean hisses. 

Sam smirks at him. "I've been keeping my silence and biding my time for a while, Dean. We're just getting started. I have  _ years  _ of teasing to make up for." 

"Teasing?" Cas looks between them with a small frown, squinting after a moment. "Sam, are you mocking Dean for having sexual inter--" 

"Okay!" Dean blurts out, slamming his laptop shut with a loud snap. His face is going to melt right off, he's sure of it. "How about we just...not talk about this right now, huh? I'm going to do research in my room,  _ alone,  _ and we're all just going to...not see each other for the rest of these few days until the Bunker takes its nap."

Sam's eyebrows fly up. "What are you talking about? The Bunker went to sleep last night. I checked the symbol before I went to bed. I was gonna tell you while you were waiting outside Cas' door, but I figured you'd check it this morning like you always do." 

In a strange juxtaposition of just a few moments ago when color was flooding his face, Dean can feel all of that color drain away in one fell swoop. He remembers in perfect clarity how he stood in Cas' room last night and told Cas that he was locked in, except he hadn't even checked, and now he knows the Bunker had been back to being inanimate at that point. 

Which means...Cas now knows that, too. 

Predictably, Cas squints at him and says, "Dean, you said that the--" 

"I know what I said!" Dean shouts, frantically snatching up his laptop. "Jesus  _ Christ."  _

"Dean," Sam says with a sigh. 

"Nope," Dean retorts, ducking his head and fleeing the room entirely without looking back. 

* * *

Dean gets  _ maybe  _ two hours of solitude before there's a knock on his door. He tries to ignore it at first, but it's insistent, so he marches over and yanks it open, fully intending on yelling at whoever is on the other side. 

Sam doesn't let him get a word in edgewise, cutting him off with, "Your boyfriend is leaving, so you might want to go kiss him goodbye." 

"What?" Dean mutters, his brain doing a record-scratch. 

"Yup." Sam nods, shrugging in a way that somehow conveys judgement. "Looks like he's going to head out a day earlier than we are. Can't imagine why he's suddenly so eager to go, since it's not like you had sex with him and then avoided him after or anything. A good boyfriend would  _ never  _ do that." 

Dean beats his head against the side of his door, groaning out loud. "Why am I like this?" he whispers to no one. 

Sam answers him anyway. "I told you, it's some kind of special talent. But hey, at least you've gotten to the point that you can  _ see  _ that you've messed up." 

"Yayyy," Dean says sarcastically, rolling his head to the side to stare at Sam. "Oh, stop looking at me like that. I'll fix it." 

"Good," Sam says simply, throwing him a  _ look.  _

Dean scowls. "I'm going, I'm going." 

They part ways, Sam heading to his room, swinging headphones pointedly around his fingers as he goes, and Dean shakes his head as he moves towards Cas' room. Thankfully, the door isn't locked this time, and it's actually slightly ajar. He pushes his way inside, knocking on the door as he does, and Cas' head snaps up. 

"Oh. Hello, Dean," Cas says, blinking as he pauses in zipping up his bag. 

Dean makes the executive decision to close the door, which he instantly regrets as he fixes his gaze on Cas. He really does look rejuvenated, is the thing. There's a certain lack of exhaustion that usually settles on his shoulders, and some of the tension in his face has smoothed out. He looks  _ rested,  _ and that only succeeds in making him look even more attractive. 

_ I've kissed those lips,  _ Dean thinks, staring at them helplessly. The amount that he's actually kissed Cas doesn't make the shine of it go away, and he still wants to do it again and again, if not  _ more  _ now that he knows what, exactly, he'll feel if he does. 

"Focus, Winchester," he hisses, averting his gaze after taking a settling breath. When he looks back, Cas is watching him curiously. "Right… So, uh, you're leaving a day before we are?" 

"I figured it was best that I didn't...linger," Cas admits awkwardly. He swallows. "You seemed uncomfortable with my presence, and I don't--I never endeavor to--" 

"No, Cas. Just  _ no."  _ Dean reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "It's not like that, okay? You can stay, you can always stay, and you  _ should  _ stay. We've been over this." 

Cas looks away. "I wasn't sure if--" 

"Hey," Dean says, and it's considerably easier to be softer with Cas after having done all that they have. "Cas, look at me. This being your home isn't an on-and-off kinda deal based on our relationship, okay? You have all rights to be here no matter what's going on between us." 

"I don't enjoy being here if it would be easier to leave," Cas says simply, and yeah, he's got a point. 

"Right. Okay, that's--that's fair." Dean bounces his gaze around Cas' room like he can find the right answer to this problem in the air, or like he's waiting for the Bunker to hit him over the head for being an idiot. His eyes are drawn to the bed over and over. "Okay, well, I enjoy you being here, period. Does that make it...harder to leave?" 

"Considerably," Cas admits sheepishly. 

Dean feels the knot in his chest loosen. "Okay, great. Then just know that I want you around. I want you here, alright? And just assume that I always feel that way because I'm not always going to remember to say it. If you aren't sure, just ask. But don't--don't just up and leave at a drop of the hat." 

"I wasn't leaving because someone dropped a hat, Dean. I was leaving because I felt that you considered what happened between us a mistake and wanted me to go." 

"Cas…" 

"What?" Cas asks, frowning at him. 

Dean blows out a deep breath and looks to the ceiling, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Can you please stop acting like my opinion beats out the fact that this is your home, the place you belong?" 

"It's only that because you're here," Cas tells him without missing a beat, not even blinking at that announcement. 

"Cas, come  _ on,  _ I'm trying to have a conversation," Dean says weakly, his throat bobbing around the lump of emotion in it. Shit, Cas will be the death of him. 

Cas frowns at him. "So am I? This is a conversation?" 

"You can't just say shit like that." Dean reaches up to scrub a hand through his hair, his eyes darting around as heat floods his face. "You just basically said  _ I'm  _ your home and where you belong." 

"Well...yes." 

_ "Dude."  _

"What?" Cas huffs, tossing up one hand halfheartedly. "Would you rather I lie to you?" 

"I mean, no, but it's starting to suck that you're better at being smooth and romantic than I am. What kinda practice have you put in, huh? You shouldn't--by default, because of your lack of experience--win at this." 

"I wasn't aware I was being those things. I also wasn't aware that it was a competition." 

"Well, you are, and it's kinda working, so do me a favor and  _ stop  _ so we can have this conversation, because if you don't, I'll probably end up kissing you again." Dean reaches up to scratch his hot cheek. "And, uh, if I do that, we'll probably just have sex again, and… I don't actually remember why that's a bad idea." 

Cas' eyes light up. "I can't think of one reason that it is." 

Dean points at him. "Stop. I have a point to make." 

"Fine." Cas holds up his hands in surrender. "I'll stop, even if I'm not  _ doing  _ anything." 

"Thank you," Dean says, pleased. "Right, so my point is, I don't want you to leave. Like...ever, really, but right now, too. Just because I need some space sometimes doesn't mean I want you to hop in your car and flee the state, okay?" 

"Can I answer that, or will that be considered the opposite of stopping?" Cas asks flatly. 

Dean rolls his eyes. "You're good. I don't think you're in danger of sweeping my off my feet after that, asshole." 

"Then, yes, okay." Cas glances over at his bag, lips tipping down at the corners. "I will stay one more day, but I do really want to go after that artifact. I'm leaving tomorrow whether you and Sam do or not. You're welcome to see me off, as Sam puts it, but I am going." 

"Fair enough," Dean agrees with a nod. He can respect that, understands it more than he can say. "And I'll keep in touch. You will too, right?" 

"Yes." 

"Great." 

Cas clears his throat. "Mhm." 

A long silence stretches between them, and Dean feels like he's about to burst out of his skin. His eyes keep jumping right back to Cas' bed, remembering what happened the night before, aching to do it all over again, or some version of it. They can, Dean  _ knows  _ that. Cas is pretty blunt most of the time, and he hasn't exactly hidden the fact that he's interested, not that Dean's really trying to hide his own desire. 

Still, there's an awkwardness that Dean can feel like a brittle brush over his skin. It's that  _ stupid  _ necessity to figure out what, exactly, they're doing. To leave it hanging, an ambiguity surrounding their relationship, is not a good idea, Dean knows that without even having to experience it. The only thing that's going to make this weird, unsettled feeling go away is for them to work out where they want to go from here. 

It's just that Dean really isn't great at this. He's already proven ten-times over that he's not a great friend, but he's been a good partner before, in the past with Lisa and Cassie, even. It's the  _ getting there  _ part that's torture, and there's always the chance Cas might go running for the hills at the mere suggestion. 

But he knows it has to be done. 

"Sam says that I want to date you," Dean blurts out, grinding his teeth immediately after the words fall out. 

Cas arches an eyebrow. "Oh,  _ Sam says.  _ What do you say?" 

Dean purses his lips. "I say Sam isn't wrong about much," he mutters, strangely appeased to be talking like this, almost like a filter that can remove the option of him being a full-blown idiot. 

"Is he wrong about that?" Cas asks, his eyebrow lowering as he stares at Dean intently. 

"I'm not...great at...much," Dean manages to get out despite the strangled quality to his voice. "Honestly, I don't really  _ do,  _ uh, feelings? I mean, I have them, a lot of them actually, but I like to not think about them. It's just easier not to, keeps me sane and ready to do my job." 

"I see," Cas tells him in a tone that suggests he does not, in fact, see. 

Dean coughs. "So, with that being said, I'm only going to do this once. Listen good, because a second time will make me spontaneously combust." He takes a deep breath and taps a fist against his other open palm, his heart thundering in his ears. Cas waits patiently, but Dean has to look away to spit it out. "The sex was, ah, good.  _ Really  _ good. I want to do that again. Like, more than just once. All the time, I mean." Jesus, this is like pulling teeth. He grimaces and stares down at his shoes, gritting his teeth and forging ahead. "Not--not just the sex, either. More. I mean, you know, couple shit, I guess. Not--we don't have to go on  _ dates,  _ unless you want to, but we could...be...together…" 

Yeah, that's all he's got. 

"That was very hard for you," Cas notes, and there's a fondness to his amused tone. 

Dean looks at him blankly. "No, Cas, that was a walk in the park. I could do that in front of a live-audience." 

Cas smiles at him, his eyes showing that same emotion that Dean hadn't been able to figure out last night, except there's nothing sad about it. He still has no idea what the fuck it is, but it garners about the same reaction from before--the ache to reach out and draw Cas into his arms, hold onto him, never let him go. But, this time, with no lead-up or warning, Cas explains that look. 

"I love you," he says calmly, as if it's the easiest thing he's ever done, summing up all of Dean's feelings for him in three words, except he's using it to sum up his own. 

Dean blinks  _ hard,  _ mortified to feel the sting in his eyes signaling the waterworks that will start if he doesn't move this moment along and quickly. "I fucking told you to  _ stop,"  _ he chokes out. 

"My apologies," Cas murmurs, though he doesn't sound apologetic in the least. He seems...peaceful, content, warmly pleased. 

"Okay, yes," Dean snaps gruffly, somehow furious that he's somehow being swindled into thinking about his feelings  _ anyway.  _ "Me too. That. What you said, me too." 

"I'm happy to hear that," Cas says softly, that same emotion in his gaze. It has a name now.  _ Love.  _

"Oh, for the love of--" Dean cuts himself off, a little breathless as he pushes himself forward, reaching out for Cas before he's even across the space between them. "Just fucking  _ c'mere."  _

Then, just like that, they're wrapping their arms around each other and pressing their lips together with simultaneous sighs of relief. It's a deep kiss that can only be described as passionate, wiping away all of the awkwardness and distance between them, opening up the door to the next step in their relationship. Dean relishes in it, twining his fingers into Cas' hair with a happy little grunt, kissing him for all he's worth, which--as he's always known--is more than most. 

The jump from passionate to urgent isn't a far one, and Dean quickly finds his hands fumbling at Cas' buttons to try and get his shirt off. Cas is yanking at his flannel, walking them towards the bed, a rough sound--almost a growl, with his voice--falling from his lips when Dean finally stops caring to be delicate with the fucking shirt and rips it open, sending buttons skittering all over the floor. Dean kisses Cas harder in victory. 

At some point later, they have made it to the bed and are trying to locate the lube between kisses and roaming hands, and Dean happens to find it shoved between the mattress and the headboard. He pushes it into Cas' hand, pulling back to stare at him. 

"Hope you're a quick-learner, Cas," Dean pants out, licking his lips. "Time for you to return the favor." 

Cas eyes the lube for a moment, then smiles a surprisingly sweet grin--a gummy thing that makes his nose wrinkle and brightens his eyes. "You needn't worry," he teases, "I had a very good teacher." 

Dean huffs out a laugh and reaches out to pull Cas back in, murmuring between kisses. It takes a moment for him to gather the courage to whisper it against Cas' lips, even as his eyes close tight and his heart races, but he does manage to say, "I love you, Cas." 

Cas hums and presses, "I love you, too," into his mouth without even a stutter, his words sure and steady. 

There isn't much talking after that. 

* * *

"Dean, dude, slow down." 

Glancing at the speed-o-meter, Dean sees that he's nearing eighty without even noticing. He eases his foot off the gas slightly. "Whoops." 

"If you keep at it, you'll just beat Cas to the Bunker," Sam mutters, sounding amused. 

"Nah, he's been on the road for longer than we have. He called me from Colorado while you were asleep. He'll get there before we do." 

"Look at you, all eager to get back home. That's  _ adorable."  _

"Shut up, you're…adorable," Dean replies, then grimaces at his own flustered response. Again, as Sam snorts at him, he says, "Shut up." 

"You miss your boyfriend," Sam sing-songs, ducking expertly as Dean makes a halfhearted swipe for him. 

Dean grumbles, "So what if I do?" 

"Nothing," Sam tells him, his voice softening with sudden sincerity. "It's sweet. You're happy, I can tell." 

"I'd be happier if you'd go back to sleep." 

"I'm wide awake, man. And we've got, what, at least four more hours of driving? Yeah, just about. So, that means you have to put up with me  _ relentlessly  _ making fun of you for rushing home to Cas." 

Dean sighs. 

Sam makes good on his promise, ribbing him every time he accidentally speeds up in his eagerness. It's good-natured, though. He won't say it because Dean doesn't want to hear it, because they don't often say things like this, but he's happy that Dean is. Because they're brothers, Sam shrouds his pride in Dean and happiness for him in the form of teasing and jokes that he likes Cas more than him--which may be a  _ teensy  _ bit true, because Cas is hard not to like, and Dean takes a little effort, but whatever. 

Between Sam reminding him that Cas is his boyfriend every other minute and Cas sending him a text to let him know that he's reached the Bunker already, Dean's practically ready to vibrate out of his skin by the time he pulls Baby into the garage. Sam openly laughs at him as he fumbles with his keys, dropping them three different times in his urgency to get out of the car. He must take too long, however, because Cas appears in the doorway the second after he shuts the car door. 

"Hey, Cas," Sam says cheerfully, hiking his duffle over his shoulder, grinning at him. 

Cas snaps his gaze over to Sam, his lips curling up with warm affection. "Hello, Sam. Are you well?" 

"Couple of bumps and bruises, but I'm alright. Got knocked out again," Sam tells him as he heads across the garage. He chuckles as he gestures to his own head. "It's a damn miracle I haven't been concussed yet." 

"That, or an angel added protection to ensure that would never happen to you," Cas suggests casually. 

Sam halts in climbing the stairs, blinking up at Cas with his mouth open in surprise. "Did--Cas, did you do that?" 

"I quickly learned that you hit your head too much to be healthy," Cas admits sheepishly. "I hope you don't mind." 

"Cas, you are…" Sam trails off and shakes his head, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder as he climbs another step. "No, man, I don't mind. Thanks for that, actually. Now, go put Dean out of his misery." 

Dean takes offense to that. He's been standing here patiently, not saying a word, letting them have their weird friendly moment because they're what friends are actually supposed to look like, or whatever. He's not in  _ misery,  _ he's just a little impatient, and maybe a touch nervous, though he has no idea  _ why.  _

Cas shoots Sam an odd look as he slips past him into the Bunker, but he doesn't call after him. Instead, he turns back to look at Dean, descending the steps slowly. 

"You've been miserable?" Cas asks as he approaches, his gaze scanning Dean from head-to-toe, one part in worry for injuries, and one part in blatant appreciation. 

Dean is weirdly warmed by that, by Cas checking him out, and it helps him clear his throat and speak as casually as he can. "Nah, Sam's just weird. How was artifact-hunting?" 

"I told you this already," Cas says impatiently, never one to enjoy repeating himself. "It was a brief fight to get the artifact, then a longer one when a demon attempted to take it from me, and then I had to destroy it. You know this, as we talked on the phone about it." 

"Yeah, but it's common courtesy to catch up when people go their separate ways for a bit," Dean says in amusement. "Just bein' nice is all." 

"I'm in no mood to talk." 

"Oh, well excuse the hell outta me. Guess I'll just stand here without saying a damn--" 

Dean forgets immediately what he was saying when Cas closes the space between their bodies and leans in to kiss him. He sinks into it with a small sigh, hands reaching out to sneak around Cas' waist and pull him closer. Admittedly, they get a little carried away, and Dean finds himself pressed up against Baby while Cas kisses him fiercely. It's the best damn hello he's ever gotten. 

"Hi," Dean breathes out when they break apart. 

Cas looks at him fondly. "Hello, Dean." 

That's the second best, hands down. 

"I would  _ really  _ like to take you to whatever room we get to first and have some very spectacular  _ I missed you  _ sex," Dean tells him, scanning his face eagerly. 

"I would very much enjoy that," Cas agrees. 

They break apart, and Cas' hand somehow finds Dean's, fingers linking together loosely as they walk through the garage. Dean stares down at their joined hands, a small smile stealing over his face at the sight. 

He wonders, vaguely, if the Bunker was sentient now, just how pleased would it be to know that it pretty much got what it wanted. That has him questioning if whether the Bunker knew they were  _ very  _ stupid for each other, romantically speaking as well as in general, and if that was the entire reason it toyed with them so much. He supposes it must have known in some way, and he finds himself weirdly thankful for it. 

As they climb the steps into the Bunker, Dean stops in the doorway and reaches out with his free hand to pat the wall with a strange fondness. "It's really good to be home," he murmurs. 

"Yes," Cas agrees softly, "it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I hope everyone enjoyed, and if you did, don't hesitate to drop off some kudos and leave me a comment; I really cherish them!
> 
> Ta! 
> 
> -SOBS

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, we have located the problem, folks. Carry on to see how it's resolved--if it is 👀 
> 
> Do stop and let me know how you're liking it so far, please and thank you! 
> 
> -SOBS


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